


The Song of the Bear who was a Fool

by BlackandPinkUnicornGuardian



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: AU Season 8, Alternate Season/Series 08, Angst, Betrayal, Complicated Relationships, Drama, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fix-It of Sorts, Jon Snow is a Targaryen, Love, Married Couple, One of the main characters will be very unhappy, Past Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Queen Sansa, Regret, Repentance, Revenge against S7, Romance, Sansa Stark is Queen in the North, Season/Series 07 Spoilers, Season/Series 08, Sorrow, Tearjerker, Unrequited Love, Unresolved Sexual Tension, War, sexual awakening, unhappy relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-20
Updated: 2017-09-06
Packaged: 2018-12-17 22:01:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 34,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11860494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackandPinkUnicornGuardian/pseuds/BlackandPinkUnicornGuardian
Summary: Show-verse, alternative S8 (let’s just hope the showrunners don’t rip the season yet to come off my fic). Jon and Daenerys have married immediately after their first night together on the wings of passion, set at the end of Season 7. Sam and Bran’s revelation about Rhaegar and Lyanna, although difficult for Jon on a personal level, hadn’t changed much in their relationship: both unable to give up what they had, especially knowing that in a matter of weeks they could both be dead, the Targaryens had agreed to simply revive their House and its customs, thus making Sansa an allied Queen in her own right, not to mention their cousin. Now, preparations for the War for the Dawn are speeding up at Winterfell, since the Wall has been breached at Eastwatch and most of the garrison slaughtered. Jorah Mormont, still a faithful knight in the service of Queen Daenerys, is also one of the brightest strategists and the bravest fighters. His work as an advisor to the three allied young royals is appreciated by everybody at court, especially by Tyrion, who had always been more of a political schemer and felt lost without the gruff knight. But even in the eve of war people still think of things that keep them alive…





	1. Of songs, tourneys, winners, and losers

**Author's Note:**

> Heed the tags before reading. Also, have a look at my usual interests and ships. Prepare your handkerchiefs, because it's meant to have a lot of tragic/emotional twists.  
> Looking up "Florian and Jonquil" on the asoiaf wikia could help. The title refers to the in-universe songs about them, and to the song "The bear and the maiden fair".  
> This is another of my "revenge fics" (as is my "The Paths of the Fools"), in which I criticise the seventh season of the show implicitly.

He had pledged himself to her, long ago: one oath as a knight, and one oath deeper in his heart.

So here he was, watching her, protecting her, but his heart was torn. Torn between the love that made him think _She is happy, and I will keep her safe in her happiness_  and _I am so proud of her, of what she had achieved_ , and the sharp pain in his chest that cut him in half.

It had all happened so quickly. One day she had welcomed him back, and she did not hide anymore she loved him, despite an infatuation for the young King in the North ongoing. Then, on the day of that fateful mission beyond the Wall, in a matter of seconds he simply disappeared from her life. Daenerys suddenly cared for and Jon only, and was in love with him, needed him, only him. Jorah became merely a presence in her court and war room, albeit one esteemed by all. He was not even allowed to grieve with her and help her grieve for the dragon they had brought up together: she had chosen to mourn with Jon instead.

If deep down he had been always ready to see her marrying a highborn, he had always thought she would still appreciate and cherish his undemanding love, his friendship, his service.

But he had always been a fool, and fools get fooled all the time.

Daenerys Stormborn Targaryen was not even a queen in her own right anymore. Not that Jorah had ever cared for such details: she was his queen because she had won him over long ago, and that was all he had needed to shift his allegiance. But her husband Jon, upon discovering who he really was and what his identity entailed, had decided to pick up his true family name and his claim, despite him being a Stark in his soul, despite him not having any interest in the Seven Kingdoms: all of this so that his love could be a queen again. And so he became King Jon Targaryen, for love, and he would leave his beloved North after defeating the Night King, to give his love the throne she always dreamed of.

Jorah find it admirable, and sweet: after all, he had done the same for years, doing everything for her so that she could be a queen and create a new world. He didn’t have a claim to a throne, of course, but he had a sword, his strength, and his experience, and he had used them to bring her to her own throne.

Jon was a good lad, and a great king who cared for his people, there was no doubt about that. He had already noticed he was a man to admire, and nothing he had witnessed so far had changed his mind about the Northern Dragon.

It still didn’t make his pain less bitter.

He only hoped at least his last wish would be granted: dying in Daenerys’ service, in the war that was now only days or weeks away from them, his body burned by his comrades to avoid being raised by the enemy, fire consuming all that had been left of him.

As it would be fit for him.

\--

Even in the eve of war there are moments in which people have time to just be. It was especially true for Jorah, since the Dragon Queen had now a husband to share her time with outside the court and the war room, the once faithful friend and advisor faded away.

Jorah decided to walk around Winterfell, to enjoy that Northern nature he had so missed during his exile, to be by himself, to try to forget everything. The beauty of the Godswood and the almost unadulterated smell of snow ensnared him, and so he went there.

Another worried soul was there, in search of some moment of quietness, and of some strength: Sansa of Winterfell, now Queen in the North, garbed in her regal furred cloak, a few snowflakes glistening on the hair popping up from under her hood. Jorah was reminded of her mother, her beauty, and of her kindness towards him and Lynesse. He found that the daughter surpassed Lady Catelyn, especially now that he saw her here, alone, looking proud and self-assured but also enticingly beautiful in the snowy landscape that belonged to her, as the Queen.

Jorah stopped to meditate on the fact that humanity would probably owe its survival exclusively to strong, beautiful queens like Daenerys… and like Sansa, the woman who had started long ago preparing her castle for humankind’s last stand without dragons, or direwolves, or advisors. The woman who - if rumours were right - had survived even direr trials than Daenerys herself, and was now here to rule as a peer to the Targaryen couple, her cousins.

He didn’t want to intrude, but he lingered there, lost in his thoughts and entranced by the beautiful sight of the Queen in her Godswood, and so she noticed him. She moved towards him.

“Ser Jorah. You **_are_** a Northerner, after all, coming to seek some peace in the snowed woods” she commented on his presence there with a shy smile that reassured him she bore him no ill will. The Northerner assembly’s formal conditional forgiveness was an understandable and practical-minded political and military move, but had he been _truly_ forgiven by the Northerners in their hearts? Judging by the friendly attitude the Queen in the North showed, he might have a chance.

“Your Grace.” It was strange saying it without the bitter taste in his mouth that was always there at the Targaryen court. “I hope I didn’t disturb you. Yes, I… wanted to enjoy the beauty and the quietness of this place, considering it might be swarming with… less pleasant presences soon.” Jorah immediately regretted saying that aloud: it was like ruining the place already. “Pardon me, Your Grace… I shouldn’t have said that. One comes here to forget for a while, not to be reminded… I have always been blunt…”

Sansa’s smile broadened. “Ser Jorah, bluntness deserves far more appreciation and praises than it usually gets. And from what I have heard about you, you don’t lack in gallantry and courtesy either. Your knighthood is probably one of the most deserved ones, and fitting, too.”

“Your Grace is too kind. I am still the man who sold poachers to slavers to pay debts, and fled justice, and shamed an old House of the North.”

“Ser Jorah, from what I have been told – by you, by my cousins, and by Lady Lyanna - you are not the kind of man whose identity can be summed up like that. Didn’t you sell those poachers because you wanted to give your wife all she wanted, to keep her smiling? And wasn’t your wife the one who was always demanding expensive things to be happy? I recall even  a few of my mother’s remarks, about Lady Lynesse being unhappy in the North, and about you suffering to see her unhappy. As terrible as selling criminals to slavers is – and I am not overlooking that -, your crime tells me you are a man who does everything he can for love. And Queen Daenerys was only able to confirm this trait of yours to me. Isn’t that trait one out of which songs and poems are made of? We all have our dark secrets, and our scars, Ser Jorah. There are no saints, probably not even gods. There are only men, and women, and their lives. You are a veteran of war: I am glad you are here with us, helping us prepare for the war, advising, ready to unsheathe your sword against the horror that’s coming. If my father had beheaded you, we would not have dragons, or Daenerys’ army, and we would not have you.”

Jorah was so surprised by her opinion on him – she, the daughter of Eddard Stark - that he could only either stare at her wordlessly in wonder, or jape, and he went for the latter. “I don’t believe you really talked to my cousin, then, Your Grace, if you are saying that.”

Sansa burst into laughter. “She is a remarkable young Lady. Of course she is pissed: you left Bear Island when she was a baby, and one day she was left alone, all of her family dead by Lannisters’ hand, to pick up the Lordship you handed down to her branch with your betrayal. She had to rule as a ten-year-old child in the midst of a terrible war: she had to toughen up. But she has accepted a formal forgiveness and reacceptance among the Northerners, and she will come around soon, I know. I never was very much attached to Jon either – I was even mean to him a few times -, but when I met him again at Castle Black, after years of being alone and suffering, I could only think he was family, the only family I had left, and so did he. And now I am immensely glad I have my cousin at my side” concluded Sansa, cleverly avoiding any direct comment on Daenerys, who rubbed her the wrong way for some reason she couldn’t understand.

Lady Lyanna Mormont never shied away from her opinions, a common trait she shared with her estranged cousin, after all. She agreed that losing any right to a lordship and living as a penniless exile for so long had been an acceptable punishment, that fighting the dead was more important than anything, not to mention comparable to serving in the Night’s Watch. But she had finished her speech with “And if you ever do anything against the honour of the North and of the name ‘Mormont’ again, I will behead you myself.” He had smiled at her, and answered, “It’s only fair, my lady”, and he and Queen Sansa had noticed the hint of a satisfied smile on Lady Lyanna’s face too.

“Anyway, Your Grace, my trait might be food for songs, but Florian was a fool. I think the songwriters might have meant to warn us between the lines, implicitly, and we never understood them correctly. ”

Sansa almost answered that Jonquil loved Florian nonetheless, but she stopped herself in time.

She hadn’t needed to have the word spelled out. Lord Tyrion and her cousins had been clear enough without ever being explicit. Moreover, the knight’s handsome and blunt face had been an open book all along. Ser Jorah was a fool in love, but as opposed to Florian he first lost Lynesse, then never got Daenerys, and it pained him still.

“I used to like songs, especially those about Florian and Jonquil. Then I hated them for a while: I was convinced they were full of lies and deceit. But maybe there is more to them, now that you make me think about it. Maybe it’s time to listen to them again, and see what they really meant to tell us.”

“Songs. They can be dangerous. Prince Rhaegar lost everything, chasing for something he found in a song, apparently, according to your brother’s visions.”

“Prince Rhaegar and Aunt Lyanna married for love, were only separated by death, and gave us Jon, thus leaving us some hope. Remembering them for their deaths only doesn’t make them any justice, Ser Jorah. And doesn’t make you any justice either. It makes you sound like a man who doesn’t care for love.” Sansa stopped there, not wanting to say something that could hurt the unlucky knight.

“Forgive me, Your Grace. I need to explain myself. I admired Prince Rhaegar very much for what was told about him, and I never was too convinced by the version stating Lyanna was kidnapped. I knew your aunt – you see, she was enticed by Bear Island’s traditions, and so she liked us Mormonts very much, talking to us every time we visited Winterfell for feasts.  I was present at the tourney of Harrenhal, too, and I honestly suspected something was up. When I went to war, it was the Mad King I fought against in my mind, not Prince Rhaegar. After all, I had to follow my liege-lord, who was by then your father. I didn’t dare discuss my views with him, grieving as he must have been. But I would be a liar if I denied how Rhaegar’s death in front of my eyes hit me hard, how I felt sorry for him.” And Jorah suddenly found an irony in the story that he wanted to share it with the Queen: “Now that I think of it, I should have known better than to name Lynesse Queen of Love and Beauty at the tourney of Lannisport and marry her. The previous winner of a tourney, who had married his Queen of Love and Beauty as well, ended up with his heart broken into pieces, and brought doom upon his House. The same happened to me later.”

Sansa was impressed by the man’s past, as well as by his storytelling and reasoning, but she also had another remark. “You keep forgetting, Ser. Without Prince Rhaegar – and my aunt – we wouldn’t have Jon, and without you in exile in Essos we would not have Daenerys, her dragons, and her army. Maybe songs have to be bittersweet. But it doesn’t mean they cannot be beautiful. And besides, there is still time to write new songs, maybe better ones.”

“No, Your Grace, you are right. It’s just that sometimes bitterness prevails, that’s all. Maybe I shouldn’t have saddened you with my sorrowful stories. You must have been so much on your mind already. Some cheerful story would have been more fitting.”

Sansa observed the knight’s saddened but very dignified expression, crowned by his courtly smile. She had never met a tourney winner who was able to name a Queen of Love and Beauty before. “Ser Jorah, why don’t you tell me your whole story? I have become very curious about it. And I don’t want you to make a song full of nothing but sorrow out of it. I am sure there is more beauty in your knightly tale than you admit. If you agree, of course. I always liked tales of knights, and now that I know there is another way of interpreting them, I would like to have a new story to put this theory to the test.”

“It makes for a long story, though, Your Grace.”

“But you can begin now, and continue in the next days. We cannot always be planning, or sharpening weapons, or thinking of doom, can’t we? My family and my court are not exactly entertaining, right now, as you might have noticed. And…” Sansa caught herself before saying _And you don’t have to spend time with Daenerys anymore._ “Well, I hope the enemy’s march takes longer than needed. Besides, you are too valuable to be sent in the vanguard, and you don’t ride a dragon either, which might buy us some more time. Please, Ser Jorah. Walk with me and start to tell me your tale.”

The young queen uttered her request with a kindness that warmed his heart like nothing else had done recently, not even the hint of a smile by his little cousin. So, he agreed: he offered her his arms as knights usually do, and walked with her that day, and the following days.


	2. Of gifted bards, and verses not written yet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jorah sings Sansa his song. He think he has sung all the verses already, but Sansa suggests there must be more to come. Meanwhile, the war council in Winterfell continues preparing humanity’s last stand: Daenerys “The Unburnt” isn’t sure she will stay unburnt…

“It’s not the first time I make you cry with my tale, Your Grace. I am not sure this is how you want to spend our last hours of peace.” Jorah wiped  Sansa’s tears away with a very gallant and tender gesture that reminded Sansa of the Hound, long ago, in a not so pleasant situation in King’s Landing, dabbing the blood welling from her broken lip.

“Ser Jorah, it’s just the emotion. I am not unhappy. I had no idea about what you endured. You are a true knight, and nothing will make me change my opinion of you. Poor Ser Jorah… and yet your story is so beautiful. As I told you, a song doesn’t have to be happy to be beautiful.”

Sansa fought the impelling need to tell Ser Jorah that she could not understand how Daenerys could simply erase Jorah from her life like that, after all they had been through together, and after the devotion he had showed. She did not question the mutual attraction between her and Jon, and not even the marriage, which made sense, somehow. She wasn’t even questioning Daenerys’ freedom of choice, and Jorah himself never once spoke of entitlement or spite out of jealousy either: what she found outrageous was her shutting Jorah off completely in a matter of what must have been minutes, during that dreadful mission beyond the Wall. She might appreciate Daenerys for many things, but not for this. She also pondered what said behaviour could entail for Jon. As passionate as the couple looked, she did not like to hear that Daenerys could simply set aside a man, and forget him, something akin to closing a book to pick another one. She didn’t want Jon to suffer a similar fate in the future.

Jorah had been extremely courteous, and never blamed Daenerys for not choosing him as a lover or a husband – in fact, he even endorsed her choosing a younger and more powerful man - , but he was honest and could not hide the bitterness about the destruction of an acknowledged mutual friendship: “I… only wanted her to share her grief. I only wanted to tell her I understood everything, and that I was still there, ready to avenge all of it. I pulled her and the dragon babies out of that pyre… I had seen them grow with her. But she is the one who decides how I have to serve her, and she decided I am only a sworn sword and a commander.”

\--

Queen Sansa and Ser Jorah had enjoyed several days in which they shared walks, or a few cups of mulled wine in front of a fireplace at Winterfell in her royal apartments. Most of the time, after finishing the war council and a few administrative duties, Ser Jorah and Queen Sansa were free. One day Ser Jorah rode away to inspect the trenches with inflammable material they had built a few hours away from Winterfell. Sometimes he went to supervise the Winterfell trenches, or the armoury perfectioning dirks, daggers, spears, and arrows. A few times Ser Jorah had to guard King Jon and Queen Daenerys during supper, or a walk. Daenerys had **_at least_** the grace to spare him guard duties to their room at night, unless she wasn’t sure she and Jon hadn’t plans that involved fucking each other’s brains out. As it was the case, the couple couldn’t currently keep their hands off each other, newlyweds and already galvanised by their dragonrider tasks as they were, so the knight’s duties were relatively few. Jorah had thus managed to tell Sansa the story of his two marriages, of Daenerys, as well as few little stories about the tourney at Harrenhal, about himself, House Mormont, and House Stark.

Sansa had blushed at the open allusion to Jorah’s wild youth, was moved by his change of heart, was crushed to hear his first wife had died with their son in childbirth, and was astonished by his romantic-tragic love with Lynesse. She also felt curious about Bear Island – she decided she would visit the place immediately after the end of the war -, and also about Father and the rest of the family. She had never met the other Starks, except for a few brief encounters with Uncle Benjen. And Jorah remembered Prince Rhaegar – who was her uncle by law and Jon’s father, not to mention one of the biggest legends of Westeros!

\--

So, Queen Sansa had her wish granted. She had Ser Jorah sing her his song, and Ser Jorah – who felt guilty for the tears he had caused her – had even found a mocking name for his tale. He had called it “The Song of the Bear who was a Fool”.

“Now everybody has a song except me”, she answered in matching jape, laughter mixing up with the remains of her commotion. “Rhaegar and Lyanna, as well as Jon and Daenerys have their ‘Song of Ice and Fire’. You have just named your song. What will my song be called?”

“I think titles are mostly given after a song has been written. You should be glad your song doesn’t have a title yet. It means there are still empty pages, or something to be said.” He looked in her eyes, wanting to convey his sincere encouragement.

“I fear my cousins reporting the Army of the Dead is marching straight for Winterfell sometimes make me dread I will not have time to finish the page.”

“Your Grace, the Umbers escaped in good part. Bran and the dragons provide a safer and quicker scouting than any other army has ever had. Have faith. We have dragonglass, Valyrian steel keeps arriving, we have fire, and we have our courage. There is hope. You said yourself you are already planning your queenly visits to your vassals.”

They looked into each other’s eyes, blue meeting blue. They had recognised their souls were more akin than anyone else’s, during their time together.

“And we have you, Ser Jorah. Jon is very good at gathering loyalty, and at infusing courage, but he is a terrible strategist, always relying on luck, heroic gestures, and other people’s good hearts. Don’t tell him that, but he had constantly failed every time pragmatism was needed.”

“We all have our flaws. I certainly cannot complain about anybody else’s.”

“Ser Jorah, you are a war veteran, and a pragmatic mind on a romantic heart” she blurted her appreciation out. “Stop mentioning what you did. I wasn’t very different, you know…”

“Your Grace, from what I have heard, you have been a victim, and you have been alone for most of the time.”

“Ser Jorah…” and she took his right hand in hers. She felt she could come clear. It would be like lifting a stone from her heart, and maybe even from his. “You have to know. I once wrote a letter to my brother Robb, because the Lannisters forced me to. I asked him to bend the knee to the Lannisters. I encouraged my father to declare himself a traitor, because I thought the Lannisters would spare him. And even when I saved Winterfell… I did it by using a man, just because I knew he would come to my rescue, because he wanted me. I didn’t sell slaves because it was not what I had the opportunity to do, but I would have sold poachers too, if that was what I needed to save me and Jon and our home.”

Jorah put his left hand on Sansa’s hands, and stroked her lightly. “Now I have to repeat the same words you said to me many, many times. You did all of those things to survive, and to save your family and your home as well. But you have a good heart, you loved your family and love it still – your devotion to Jon is incredible – and you love romance, and life, and joy. Not to mention that you have been ruling Winterfell mostly by yourself, and you are doing a supreme job of it.”

Sansa saw his eyes glistening, and felt his hands squeezing hers.

It was the moment they recognised they were much more than people with a few common interests, shared views, and who enjoyed talking together. They were _soulmates_. The revelation hit them both hard.

She was a young Queen, whose father had even sentenced that exact man to death and complained for a long time about not being able to execute his former vassal and friend. He was a knight, seven years older than her father would have been, sworn to her cousin’s wife. They were both confronting their feelings with these facts.

But bards love tormented loves, Sansa had many empty pages, and Jorah had room enough for a few more verses.

She squeezed his right hand, and she felt him squeeze her hand back, with his left. It was courtly; there was nothing wrong with it, he thought.

Kissing a queen’s hand as a knight was courtly too. So he lifted their hands, took her hands, and kissed it, as he had done uncountable times, but this time he let his lips linger on her hand longer than usual, then stopped their joint hands in mid-air, still looking into her eyes.

Sansa noticed the lingering of his lips, and liked it very much. She felt a sudden heat through her body, a new experience for her – her record for men putting her lips or hands on her comprising mostly painful abuse. _Only Jon had made me feel safe and happy so far… but Ser Jorah… the heat..._ It was difficult for Sansa, given her past, to recognise the signs in her soul and in her body that she had in front of her something she had only heard of in her songs from her childhood so far.

Jorah knew very well what had happened, and tried to do what had worked for a long time with Daenerys: playing the ultimate knight. He only had to avoid blurting out things like that night in Qarth long ago, and this time it would be all right. Or so he thought.

Both entranced by each other’s stare and beauty, they were still in the same position, and Jorah unconsciously kissed Sansa’s hand one more time, always lingering with his lips. Sansa answered with a wide smile.

Jorah’s mind first saw an encouragement in her smile, then stopped abruptly. If he kissed her, it would be Daenerys all over again. “I think it’s time for us to rest,” he managed to blurt out. “I hope I didn’t upset you with… _my stories_.”

“Not at all, Ser Jorah. I hope to have more… _of your stories_.” He helped her stand up and motioned to accompany her out of the room. He was all right, _they_ were all right, he was sure.

They were all right indeed, and that what exactly why she asked Ser Jorah: “Will you give me a goodnight kiss, good ser?” She wanted to understand completely what had happened, to have the tangible proof that love existed and was a joyful experience, and she knew she had a chance, for she was a queen and he was a knight.

“As always, Your Grace.”

It wasn’t a hand kiss what she wanted from Ser Jorah, though, so when he gave her his arm to accompany her she used it to pull herself nearer and put her lips on his, the same way Jorah had put his lips on her hand.

Both felt their hearts jumping to their throats, and Jorah instinctively put his other arm around her, his hand on the small of her back.

The kiss was almost chaste. Jorah wanted Sansa to feel cherished, not pursued or – even worse - frightened. He had understood between rumours and allusions what she had been through, and he didn’t want to scare her.

Sansa, on the other hand, wanted to overcome her fears, and have a glimpse of joy. She broke the kiss, and asked Jorah, softly: “How would you kiss your lady, Ser?”

Jorah swallowed hard. “Your Grace…”

“Jorah. Please. I want to know.”

“Your Grace…”

“ ** _Sansa_**.”

_Why do I keep putting myself in these situations?_ “I thought my story had…”

“…told me you are a knight in shining armour, only with a few spots here and there. Only unused armours have no spots. And now I want this knight to kiss me, to show me a glimpse of love and beauty in this terrible world. Please.”

Jorah could not resist anymore: he put his hands on her hips and kissed her with passion, while she threw her arms around his neck. He had forgotten the bliss of kissing a woman while in love - because he knew they were in love, as stupid and mad as it was -. His lips wanted to savour the beautiful queen, almost nipping at her. And she loved it, so much that she dared pulling his lower lip slightly between hers, finally claiming back her body and redeeming those intimate gesture, after years of abuse. Jorah then tried to see if she was ready to deepen the kiss, gingerly: he licked her lips in the most delicate yet sensual way.

She let him, and she opened his mouth for his tongue. He lost it then: his hands grabbed her head, and his tongue caressed her mouth, sweet with the taste of the mulled wine they had. _I thought I had forgotten. I thought I would never feel this again._ She thought along the same lines. _It’s happening. My knight is kissing me._ She tried to imitate his moves, a little clumsily at first – once again, she was cleansing her memories by undoing the defilement of what should have been tender, and holy, and beautiful. And kissing Jorah was all of these qualities.

They explored kissing for a while, although Jorah felt ashamed he was hardening against her. But she didn’t say a word, and only continued reciprocating his kisses, enjoying his strong arms around her, his body so warm against hers, the heat and the spinning head taking control of her.

Jorah, however, knew it was enough. The last thing he wanted was making love to a queen in a chamber anybody could enter, and leading a romantic moment towards a conclusion that could be something an abused woman might repulse. She had asked for a kiss, and he had kissed her.

With a huge effort, he broke the kisses, giving her one last peck on her nose, and said: “Your Grace, this should be enough to grant you sweet dreams”, smiling.

“Please, call me Sansa when we are alone.”

“ _Sansa_. This… was the most beautiful thing that could happen to me. But it’s time to rest. And I would love for you to go to sleep with a sweet kiss with a devoted knight as your last memory of the day.”

She smiled, and allowed him to accompany her to her chamber, parting with a light kiss on the lips despite the guards. “I am the Queen” she reassured him.

\--

Upon undressing, Sansa found her underwear and her body wet between her legs, and she became curious. She knew what that was about. She wanted so desperately to put all the dreadful images of abuse aside that she decided to explore herself. First her nipples, which had loved Jorah’s heat – she discovered that some movements gave her pleasure there. Then she explored the source of her wetness, repeating to herself every time negative associations came to her mind _It’s my body, mine, and only mine. I am the Queen in the North, the Lady of Winterfell, and I am claiming back my lower lips now._ She discovered she had leaked wetness copiously from her inner lips, and that the wetness made her enjoy touching her clit very much, that point she had occasionally felt reacting pleasurably while riding.

After a while, she had given in to pleasure, pure pleasure, thanks to her clit. She had found the right pressure, and several movements, and she had still in mind who had made her so wet and warm down there…

_Jorah._ She had held his hands, felt them on her back and on her hips… would they be able to give her that same pleasure? She hoped so… and she gave herself pleasure, thinking of the handsome knight stretched beside her, putting his hand on her, until she was satisfied, and tired, and fell asleep, dreaming of a kiss in front of a weirwood tree with _her Jorah_ in a shiny armour, and all of her court cheering for them, and then his hands touching her like she had touched herself.

\--

Jorah felt ashamed, and went briefly out to cool down in the snow. _I cannot pleasure myself thinking of her. What would she think of me? After enduring that monster, she will not want a man’s touch anymore. My love for her has to be chaste. I had a long life, full of events…_

The snow burned and hurt, but he was doing it for her. He had endured worse in life: he could put up with some momentary pain for the sake of a woman he had fallen in love with and who reciprocated, probably _the best woman_ he had ever met in life.

\--

The following day, Jorah went to attend to his duties a little worried, remembering the previous evening. But all his personal worries dissipated when the Queen in the North smiled at him sincerely and warmly upon his arrival in the war room, accompanied by Lady Brienne as usual.

If only he had known… Sansa had the best night of all them, and he came close second, despite the unpleasant encounter with some snow.

Tyrion, Varys, Ser Jaime, and all the commanders and political minds were increasingly nervous: the wait for the slowly advancing Dead was killing them, yet marching out in winter was to be kept as a last resource, no matter the toll on their nerves. Nervousness was no pleasant bedfellow, though.

Jon and Daenerys had an entirely different situation to face. Their passion was incredible, and Daenerys didn’t shy away from demands in the bedroom, used as she was with Daario. They also shared some views on politics, and fighting, and were curious about their families and their legacies. But sometimes it was simply difficult to talk. Daenerys first assumed it was a Northern thing: she remembered Jorah was never the one to start talking, to make gatherings lively. But she also remembered that Jorah could talk, even a lot, and of pretty much everything. He just needed to be encouraged, or to warm up to people. Then she thought that maybe Jon was shier, younger as he was. But she noticed he talked easily to Sansa, and most of the time his smiles reached his eyes.

Was it her? Was she intimidating? Did she wear him out with all the sex she initiated? She didn’t know, but she was starting to feel… nervous? Uncertain? Bored? No, bored she could not be. Jon was amazing.

When Daenerys felt something negative, she usually resorted to having a look at Jorah, with his face always full of devotion and reverence, her oldest source of reassurance from the early days of her first khalasar. A few questions about court or war matters usually made her feel safer. She knew she might even resort to ask him for some advice: maybe as a Northerner he would know what to do with Jon, or had tales to share she could use for conversation. She also admitted that thinking of Jorah always reminded her she had so much in her life, and should not complain: her knight had endured so much, and stood by her side still, ready to defend her and her new husband. She had seen the signs of the pain he courteously tried to hide, and she was grateful for him.

As of late, though, Jorah had been quite… different. It had been a slow change, but it was clear that something was going on. She thought he might be more worried than he showed while planning the war: as much as he and Ser Jaime wanted to play the consummate knights willing to die for humanity, she knew that all men have fear, deep down. Jon had told her a wise thing: the man who had raised him as a father, the one she had once called “Usurper’s dog” and who was, in fact, an honourable man, used to tell that the only moment a man could demonstrate he is really brave is when they have fear.

Today, though, her bear, although extremely focused and even _full of ardour_ in the war room, was definitely _distant_ , almost _absent_ during formal courtesies, and during his guard duty at lunch. Instead of keeping his watch on the person he should be guarding, namely her, or of sharing at least a few words when requested, he had to be constantly pulled out of wherever he was with his mind. He didn’t seem worried or angered, but with those Northerners… one never knew.

“Ser Jorah. Do you remember when you had to orchestrate a strategy for taking Yunkai, along with Ser Barristan?” The question wanted to highlight his incredible experience and make him feel revered as a commander, but she also hoped the mention of Ser Barristan and the indirect reference to Daario would at least trigger a lively reaction out of him.

Jorah almost jumped at being spoken to – he was completely lost in his thoughts -, and straightened himself again to answer: “Certainly, Your Grace.”

“Well, Jorah, it’s not like you, not adding at least a piece of wisdom to your answers.” she said teasingly.

“What wisdom does Her Grace wish me to share? Whatever she commands, I will do.”

_He is calm, but he is also… distant. Has he forgotten what I am referring to?_ “You feared we would never take the city, since the Yunkai’i would simply close the door and let us either starve or be attacked by sellswords. In the end, you entered the city with Daario Naharis and Grey Worm from a posterior door, and managed to slaughter everybody until you were able to open the gates for my army. You fought well, I remember everybody’s praise.”

“Your Grace, you are very kind, but you forget that neither the idea was mine nor did I present you with the flag of the city. It was Daario Naharis. A pity we don’t have him here with the Second Sons, to be honest. Every man counts, and Naharis was a good fighter” he said with a weird, almost eerie calm she could not understand – she had at least hoped he would be speak out Daario’s name with bitterness, or complaint. Instead, he even regretted he wasn’t here, and he was honest. His blue eyes could not conceal his true feelings, as they didn’t that night.

“Ser Jorah, well, do tell more. My husband and our cousin have already entertained us enough with many of their tales from the North. They will think we had a boring life in Essos.”

Tyrion japed: “Mormont, if I had known I would bring some excitement and change, I would have crossed your path before.”

“Lannister, I must admit I would have loved to see you in Yunkai. We had Ser Barristan almost fainting at the sellswords’ words towards Our Queen. Then we had Daario making up one of those plans involving sneaking, brothels, and wine all at once, and all of this took place after he had betrayed and beheaded his commanders, and presented Our Queen with their heads. And I can almost hear you japing at me, coming back to Our Queen with Grey Worm all covered in blood, after doing our duty. We had seen better days, I admit. Daario Naharis, on the other hand, managed to be dashing even with a bloodied flag in his hands. But then again, you remember Daario…” and he laughed with Tyrion.

Daenerys could not believe her ears.

Tyrion agreed completely. “Aaah, Daario Naharis. I wonder if we could call him back now that our Queen is safely m… on a throne.” He caught himself in time. “I don’t think Meereen is still so important in our plans. His arakh against a wight, on the other hand…”

“Lord Tyrion, I wanted the Second Sons to hold Meereen to avoid a comeback of slavery, not to become an Empress, or to levy new soldiers.” Daenerys didn’t want anybody to get false impressions.

Jon smiled tenderly at his wife.

Sansa intervened: “Daenerys, you couldn’t even afford to hold Dragonstone thanks to Cersei and the Golden Company. I really hope people in that city have seen an alternative to slavery and change things by themselves, but if you think a sellsword company is still holding a city a world apart on your behalf, with you deeply involved in wars and politics here, you clearly have still much to learn. When we defeat the White Walkers, you can try to see what has happened down there, and you might even resume fighting slavery everywhere, if that’s what you wish – the North will never threaten your claim, and we will always be your ally here on Westeros.” She realised after finishing that she had poured much of her conflicted feelings for her new cousin into her statement. But then, it was the truth,  and her allies and family deserved the truth.

Daenerys felt everything backfire, from Tyrion who almost blurted out she had left a bedwarmer on Essos, to Sansa showing more insight, maturity and experience than her, to Jorah, who hadn’t said  a single word. _At least Jon smiled at me._

Jon was now looking at Sansa. “Sansa, please! As much as I have come to appreciate your advice, was it necessary to be this blunt? You will hurt people soon!”

“Jon, you will have to stop confusing due and legitimate protection when needed with ignoring or hiding the harsh but necessary truth. You cannot hide the truth to a Queen, especially not if you love her. I am **_quite sure_** Ser Jorah has given plenty of honest advice to Daenerys during his career. You, on the other hand, are still very much my father’s foster son. Father wanted me to feel safe and to continue be a gracious lady, and it got him killed, and it kept my head full of silly dreams instead of letting me see **_both_** the ugliness and the beauty of this world.” She exchanged a brief glance with Ser Jorah, who understood more than she said, and smiled briefly.

_Ser Jorah smiling at Queen Sansa_ , Daenerys noted. _So he is not completely absent, or worried, or distant, or feeling ill. Maybe he felt underused as an advisor. He would be right to feel that way, as of late._

Would Ser Jorah back his Queen now in his good mood? She had told him multiple times not to contradict her in public, after all: he should know better now. “Ser Jorah, what do you think?”

“Your Grace, I think you know the answer, and I think you don’t want to hear it. At least not now, and certainly not in front of your court, and Queen Sansa’s court.”

His tone had lacked the heartfelt sorry and devotion he usually put into similar statement. He was stating a thing, a matter of fact, and that was all. He was being gallant, but honest. And _distant_.

Tyrion intervened: “Don’t bother, Mormont. Your Grace, whatever happened to Meereen, I am **_quite sure_** the Second Sons are not keeping Queen Daenerys’ peace. I seem to recall that you have been very clear with their commander about the boundaries of your… rewards. Who knows if they found a better bidder, or if Daario has crowned himself king, or if they were slaughtered as soon as our sails disappeared on the horizon. It all lacks importance now, when we face worse opponents than slavers. Let us think about something happier, instead. For example, Your Grace” and he turned to Sansa “If you don’t stop becoming wiser, cleverer and more beautiful every day, I will be forced to ask for your hand in marriage again, this time for real” and he blinked in order not to scare Sansa. The young queen laughed wholeheartedly.

Ser Jorah missed the blink, and scowled for an instant, an instant Daenerys didn’t miss. He changed into amusement when he understood he had only meant it as a jape, and Sansa had understood and appreciated.

The knight was now smiling at Sansa, with one of his beautiful smiles. Jon was smiling at Sansa too, broadly. “I guess you will have a long line of suitors. And I know I will feel very much like Father, I mean, Uncle Eddard would do, I admit it.” He caressed her hand.

Daenerys missed all those smiles. Jorah’s handsome face with its adoring, reassuring smiles… and Jon’s smiles. She noticed he had never smiled so broadly at her, showing his beautiful teeth and cheekbones. _Although Jorah’s cheekbones really are a work of art. Jon cannot compete with him. I would be a liar if I ever said otherwise._

She felt she needed to learn more about the North: Jorah, Jon, and Sansa were brought up in the North, and that could explain their close and relaxed relationship. Jorah had seen the world, and knew her so well: he could help her integrating into her Northern family.

But when that evening she looked for Ser Jorah to walk with him and ask him to resume their conversations, she didn’t find him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Some book stuff to fill in a few blanks.   
> \- What do you think is going on here? (look at the tags and make your hypothesis)   
> \- How long do you think will it take for Jorah to lose his knightly attitude, and what do you want him to do to Sansa in the next chapter then? ;-)


	3. Of the Queen who claimed it all back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa finally takes back the last thing she still had to claim. The Queen in the North is finally ready for the future, and fears neither White Walkers, nor Wights.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, thank you for all the kudos and comments! I feared this unconventional path my creativity suggested me could have scared off readers.  
> Please let me know if there are any typos, mistakes, whatever. I only re-read this twice.  
> Sorry for the die-hard show!Daenerys fans who were disappointed. I thought my tags and summaries were clear. I repeat: romance, passion, tragedy, and Season 7 criticism ahead.

His secret Queen of Love and Beauty was waiting for him in the Godswood for a walk, where their Southron friends would probably not follow them. The worst that could have happened would have been Jon visiting them, but the King’s presence would be, at least, of a different nature when compared to all their other friends or allies. He was a Northerner, only styling himself as a Southron out of love. The Southrons did not appreciate a walk in the snow under the Godswood at all, and seldom chose more intimate conversation over loud collective retellings of stories.

“Jorah.” Her eyes were sparkling.

“Sansa” he said with his smooth, low voice full of emotion. He kneeled and took her hand to kiss it with passion, then stood up and waited.

“My knight, we are alone, I am quite sure of it” she said with a satisfied grin. And she jumped in his arms to kiss him. Their tongues danced in a more skilled way than the day before. He then broke the kiss by pecking her on the nose and on the forehead. She leaned her head on his shoulder. “Jorah, I feel like… I want to know more about your adventures in Yunkai. You have been more detailed about Meereen, and what you haven’t said about those tales yourself I figured out by myself thanks to you and Tyrion.”

“Tyrion almost gave away things I am not sure Jon would care to hear.”

“Oh, Jorah… I do not think the captain of the Seconds Sons is still in the city keeping the Queen’s peace. As for him being her lover and being in love with her… life goes on, which means we all have a past. I think we all know that. As long as he does not come to Westeros crawling and advancing requests, I don’t think Jon would mind. You see, I love you even more because I know how you loved your wives and Daenerys, my sweet knight, because I know you _loved_.  Besides, Jon revealed me he had a lover too, a Wildling, you know?”

“A brother of the Night’s Watch and a Wildling? This must be an interesting tale, my lady. Tormented lovers, for sure.” He smiled while backing a little, to be able to look at her in her glorious beauty.

“Jon is a little shy, but he has admitted he fell in love with her, and it hurt. I remember I felt so sorry for him I hugged him even more tightly than the day we were reunited. And he hugged me back: I don’t think he was ever able to open up about it with his Brothers.  I hope he is happy, now. I have suffered much, but I never saw my lover die in battle, and I never had to burn his body. As he did.”

“Are you sure you prefer the tale of Yunkai? Jon’s tale sounds very interesting, too.”

“We can tell them in turn, can’t we? Let’s walk a little, then we can go back into my apartments and sit in front of the fireplace. I should hope by then everybody has found something else to do other than to disturb us. We have all been very social today, I think.” She blinked at him.

Jorah sealed the deal with a quick kiss on her lips.

\--

Their tales were finished. Jorah had occasionally kissed her hand, and she had done the same. They were now looking in turns at each other and then into the flames.

“You and your adventures, Jorah. If it weren’t for Tyrion and Daenerys corroborating them, I would not believe them. But you are, in a way, unreal, my knight. Sometimes I cannot believe you are real.”

Jorah blushed. He had said the very same words, long ago… _There are times when I look at you… I still can’t believe you are real._ It was the night he had blurted out too much, and revealed he was deeply in love with Daenerys.

Sansa’s eyes revealed she hadn’t blurted it out. She held his stare with pride, and tenderness, and passion.

He had to answer. “I cannot believe you are real either. A brave and competent queen, a perfect lady, the sweetest, most romantic, most beautiful woman, who desperately wants to see a perfect man in me…”

“I didn’t say that. I said only unused armours don’t have spots. Only people who did not live – or love – did no mistakes. And I said I love your flaws as well as y…uh.. oh…”

Jorah couldn’t even tell himself to act: he immediately fell to her knees and took her hands. “Sansa…”, his voice thick with emotion.

She let out a brief laughter: “In the songs, it is usually the knight who declares his love…”

“It is also usually the knight who asks for a kiss and claims his lady’s lips” he added grinning, remembering the previous evening. “I love you, Sansa. That’s all that matters, after all.” and he kissed her hands.

“I love you, Jorah.” She pulled him up and stood up to throw herself in his arms.

Their kiss was long, and passionate. Sansa even dared pass her hands through his hair.

Jorah didn’t even notice he had slid his lips down her neck, and she didn’t even notice she encouraged him by pulling him down. It was Sansa’s moan of pleasure when Jorah hit the right spot with his mouth and his beard that made them notice it.

He straightened up “I… apologise, Sansa, I…”

“For what?”

“I… was carried away.”

“Isn’t that the point of being in love? Being carried away? Making your lover happy with your kisses?”

 _Lover._ Did she understand what that word really meant? They had been speaking of Daario Naharis. She should know. “Sansa, I… am the knight who loves you.”

“You are the man who loves me, and I love you.”

“I love you, and I love kissing you, but… you know…”

She studied him for a while. “You fear something.”

“I… fear for you, my love, it’s true.”

“What do you fear?”

“I… don’t know how much you… want to…”

“ _Be with you_?”

“Yes.”

“I am a queen. I am a woman. I know you, and I know many people who know you. I understand you, your soul, how you act, even in the war room. And we might not see another spring again. _How much_ do you think I want to be with the man I love, considered all this?”

“I was only worried… there are many things that make me worry, but my main concern… I think I know what you suffered. And I don’t want you to relive it.”

It was the sweetest thing she could hear. “My love… that’s why I want to claim back all that I have been taken from me, and to redeem every intimate gesture two lovers share. The joy of love, the hope, the dreams, the feel…”

Jorah felt tears welling in his eyes, and noticed Sansa hat them too.

“Sansa… I… am happy that’s how you feel. But I hope you have also considered other matters…”

“I am a queen. A queen in my own right. I am free to decide. And **_I swear_** that nobody will ever decide of my life again. I choose you. Do you choose me as well?” She said with pride and a firmness in her voice and her eyes that took his breath away.

He claimed her lips again, and her mouth. “But please, Sansa, you must promise me you will tell me… what you want, if you want it, if I am scaring you, or hurting you” he murmured.”

“It is exactly what I want to do” and she murmured in his ear what she had done and thought the previous evening.

Jorah feared his cock would tear his trousers before she could lead him to her room.

\--

In her corridors, she started leading him by his hand. The guards had already seen the two of them become nearer, more intimate by the day, so the scene did not surprise anybody. Neither had anybody felt the need to share the tale, or would need to do it in the future.

“My Queen. Do you want me to carry you in my arms?” asked Jorah, yearning to give her everything she dreamed of.

“My knight, I would love you to, but I fear me leading you is safer as far as my guards are concerned. My being in your arms could be misunderstood. But you can lift me up as soon as we are in my room” she encouraged him, almost as if she wanted to apologise for denying him something.

After they entered her room, he hugged her passionately from behind and kissed her neck, then lifted her up in his strong arms, and kissed her while he carried her to the bed. He stopped next to her nightstand, and let her down to kiss her again.

“Are you completely sure you want this, my love?”

“Do I need to repeat what _I had to do_ without you?”

 _Gods._ “You can do whatever makes you happy, my love.” He kissed her again, holding her head, then moved his hands down to her shoulders, unclasped her cloak, and sought her dress laces, slowly, as to give her time to give him directions.

Her hands went to his waist instead. “I… would like to remove your belt. I hope I am not doing anything wrong.”

He smiled, and put his hands on her, and guided her. He hung the belt on the bedpost. She was studying him intensely, and he reciprocated. He read curiosity – not fear - on her face, and he felt reassured.

She unclasped his cloak too, and he went back to her dress laces, stroking her. He kissed every inch he uncovered, although she still had a shirt under the dress. She moved her hands to his back and waist, caressing, discovering.

“You… are strong. And warm.”

“Does it please my Queen?” She answered with a kiss.

Her dress pooled down to her ankles, and he gave her his hands to assist her in stepping off it. Always the knight, he lifted it and put it on the nightstand, semi-folded. When he turned back to her, he found her hands sneaking under his surcoat, feeling his chest. He removed the surcoat hastily, and then her hands started to unlace his shirt. He did the same to her.

In a few instant, they found themselves both bare-chested.

She was lovely, in her pale skin, almost glowing, and with beautiful teats, just the perfect size for her frame. The nipples seemed to complement her fiery hair.

He was handsome: a strong, barrel-chested man, fit for the sword and for all that fighting entailed. Some hair on the chest and some under his belly button enticed her. He was full of scars, between the battles and the disease, but that didn’t make him less attractive. Quite on the contrary, she found it alluring.

He stepped towards her, and put his hands on her arms. She grabbed his biceps, wanting to feel them.

“You are beautiful, my love.”

“You too” and she flushed.

“Can I hold you tight against me, to feel you? Do you feel ready for that?”

She stepped into his arms, cheek to cheek and they felt their bodies skin to skin for the first time. Sansa remembered the pleasure her nipples could give her, and loved his warm and strong body against hers.

Another kiss, and then Jorah was trailing kisses down her neck and shoulders, eliciting another moan as before as he hit the right spot. “I… cannot think straight when you do that.”

“Should I stop?”

“That is not what I meant” she smiled.

He felt her try to remove his trousers, and he assisted her. His cock was already too hard to stay inside them. He also removed his boots, so he was now standing in his socks and breeches. He lifted Sansa to put her on the bed, removed her boots, kissed her, then started trailing down softly.

He reached her breasts, and kissed them softly, listening for her feedback. She wanted him so much on them that she put her hand on his head and directed him where she wanted his mouth: on her nipple.

First a light kiss, then another. He heard her breathing heavily, and dared to lick her.

“Aaaah!” she moaned in pleasure

He grinned, and continued licking, first one nipple, then another, his hands cupping her teats, his cock hardening with every wave of warmth and every moan she made.

He didn’t notice he changed his stimulation when he sucked one nipple gingerly between his lips and tongue instead of licking it. His head suddenly told him to be careful not to be too forceful. He stopped briefly, his heated breath still grazing her teat, and asked: “Do you like this too, my love?”

“Yes, just… I like your lips, and your tongue, just… not too hard, please, no… biting, you understand…”

 _My sweet love. I wish I can protect you forever._ He began anew, carefully testing her reactions. She was open in her wishes, and directed him with words and moans. She felt herself drown in pleasure, and he hadn’t even touched her down there. She arched her back, making her belly and mound rub against him.

He noticed, and trailed further down, reaching the brim of her breeches. His hands took over again, and removed them slowly, as they did with her socks.

He stopped to admire her, and to check on her.

“You are breath-taking.” Her fair skin, her long legs, her hardened nipples on her round teats; her long red hair falling down her back and shoulders, her blue eyes full of trust and desire; her mound covered with darker hair already matted with her wetness where her lower lips were.

 _He licked the honey from her hair._ The sound resounded in his head.

“Are you still all right, my love?”

“More than you could possibly imagine. But I would like to… see you too.”

He removed his breeches and socks too, their gazes never breaking off, then grabbed her thighs lightly.

He had thought about kneeling in front of her immediately, but he remembered what she had done yesterday _for her first time_ , and wanted to go there gradually, to be sure she got used to his body against hers completely. He leaned her on the bed, and knelt beside her, then stretched beside her on his side, caressing her cheek and kissing her, his completely naked  and stretched out body against hers for the first time. He tried not to embarrass her with his cock, and to keep the contact between other parts, but one could not ignore his long, hardened shaft that grazed against her. He even noticed her looking at it – she was admiring it, long and hard.

“Do you like feeling our bodies, naked, like this?”

“Yes. So warm… so… I like it… very much.”

“You feel incredible against me.” He kissed her again, and felt her passion still flaming. He then took her right hand, and brought it down gingerly to hover over her mound.

“Show me first. Then I will show you. We will learn together where your pleasure lies.”

She entwined her hand with his and guided him, first grazing her folds, then feeling her honey, spreading it, exploring. She first closed her eyes, as to remember her movements, then decided she wanted to look at his slender and muscular body, at his beard, his cheekbones, and into his eyes.

“This… is where… I liked it best.” And she guided him over her clit, showing him the pressure and the movements. He could hear and feel her pleasure, and he could also read it on her body.

He kissed her, their tongues meeting before their lips. Then trailed down with his kisses, slowly, eliciting all pleasurable sensations and never stopping their joined hands’ touches until the very last moment.

His lips were now kissing her hair - and their hands moved away - and her outer lips at last. He turned and moved to kneel between her legs. His hands, now free, grazed her inner thighs and then her lower lips. He lowered his mouth on the thighs, kissing them, trailing up, returning to her lips.

“Jorah! I… had never thought… no, don’t stop… oooh…”

His tongue repeated what she had showed him with her hand, and she was sure she would die from the pleasure. Especially when he started lapping her clit, looking into her eyes: she had to feel his hair between her fingers, caressing him to tell him how she loved that. She continued directing him with moans, words, and pulls, and he continued exploring her.

_He licked the honey from her hair! Then she sighed and squealed and kicked the air! My bear! She sang. My bear so fair!_

She was soaked and drunk in pleasure. Her screams had resonated through Winterfell, and she could not care less.

“Would you like to try and feel my finger inside you, my love?” He almost murmured, still hovering over her folds, his voice and his breath making her tremble.

“Yes” she ordered.

Jorah slid his middle finger slowly inside of her, his tongue back on her clit. He moved up and down a little.

“I… love your tongue. I don’t… really feel the finger.”

He circled a little and explored her. He felt a spot, different from the rest, and noticed her trembling a little more. He lingered there. She was still moaning and wet under his ministrations. So, always lapping at her, he inserted another finger, slowly, and went back to that spot.

The sudden change in her moan – a louder, deeper moan – made him hope for the best.

“Don’t stop it… “

There was no chance in Seven Hells he would stop pleasuring her, making her peak on his face, on his mouth, on his fingers.

 _My body, my pleasure, my knight._ Were the only coherent thought that popped up in her mind in between waves of heat and pleasure.

In the fog of her pleasure, and in the always increasing need for him on her, she finally realized she wanted more than his fingers and mouth, and she wanted to hear him _moan_ in pleasure, not just hum in satisfaction.

“Jorah…. let me feel _you_.”

 She felt him move up, kiss her teats and neck, and she felt his cock grazing her wetness, making her shiver in pleasure and in anticipation. Then he stopped, took her head between her hands and said: “You tell me if there is anything wrong. Any time.”

“Of course. Don’t worry. I know you won’t hurt me.” She was so wet, and lost in him, that she could not envision him hurting her, although his cock - she had noticed - was broader and far longer than his fingers.

He kissed her languidly, her wetness still on him and in him, and she realized she loved tasting herself, pleasure making shame impossible.

Then he picked her up while sitting up and turned them around. He sat, backing until he reached the headboard, removed the pillows to sit on the mattress, and pulled her to him. He assisted her in kneeling above him, looking up at her with his darkened eyes full of love.

“You are in control.” He caressed her arse and thighs, and grazed her folds with his cock, then took her hand and put it on his shaft. “You decide how and when.” His arms went around her to reassure her.

“I... oh… “ it was a powerful sensation, she recognised.

She took him in her hand, stroke her folds with his cock, then rubbed herself on it pressing against his belly, and finally aligned his tip with her inner lips.

Both moaning, she started to slide down him, slowly, letting her body adjust to him.

_My body, my knight, our pleasure._

She finally sat down on him, his shaft balls deep in her, their bodies touching, her clit against him, throbbing. His hardness inside her warm wetness was bliss for them both.

Jorah was conflicted between his weeping and demanding cock, and his worry for her. It was a good thing, because it kept him under control.

She tentatively lifted herself, all the while rubbing herself against him.

They moaned even louder.

And all the things they had already tried together helped them discover how to scream in pleasure even now that they were intimately joint. He supported her movements with one arm, sometimes two, but let her move and rub herself seeking her pleasure for a while, only accompanying her movements with some light waving and rolling of his hips to smooth their lovemaking and to enhance their pleasure. Her wetness made every dip, every blow resound loudly in the room with an obscene but enticing noise. They sometimes made their tongues mirror their fucking, and their lips mirror their rubbing. Other times, he chose to suck on her neck and her teats instead.

When she had once shivered by rubbing herself on him, and when she had found the right rhythm and angle to enjoy him completely - her wetness still dripping down to mat his balls and the bed - he grabbed her hips to make her dips go deeper, and increased his hips movement.

She moaned, and screamed, and tightened her hold on his shoulders and back.

One last teat suck, and then he had to lock his lips with her neck and close his eyes to keep the control even in such a heated moment.

“Sansa…oh”

“Oh… oh… OH… JORAH… PLEASE …. JO… RAH…”

She was almost there. And there she went. He heard a wordless scream of pleasure, and felt her inner walls tighten and grip him harder. He tried to push her down vigorously, to enhance her pleasure by keeping himself deep inside her.

In a few strokes - harder strokes drowning in her wet inside – it was his turn to explode in a glorious peak. He kept her tight against him, their skins and groins intimately united, he balls deep in her, his hand on the small of her back slightly pushing. He felt the need to empty himself deep inside her, and she loved every single moment of it: she rubbed herself lightly on him, her forehead leaning on his. His seed was another pleasant sensation for her, a sensation that made her shiver and prolonged her ecstasy.

She collapsed in his arms shortly after, and he hugged her tightly, rubbing his cheek against hers. He leaned on the headboard to rest a little, and took care to stroke his lover reassuringly, _his love_.

“My love…”

“My love… now I am truly a Queen.”

“You already were, and you are doing a splendid job.”

“You don’t understand. I claimed my life back. I claimed back everything” she told him with glistening eyes. “And I am sitting on my favourite throne now” she added in tender jest.

They laughed, and kissed.

They slept in each other arms. The morning greeted them with the tenderness of their first awakening together, and with Jorah’s renewed ardour that led them back to an intense session of lovemaking. This time Sansa asked him to lie beneath him, and to be embraced and protected by her chivalrous knight. He gladly complied, after licking her, discovering with her all the angles that intimate and sweet position actually hid.

The guards didn’t dare to bring any trays until after the moans and screams stopped. Even then they politely knocked, and behaved like nothing had happened, that day, and the following days as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sophie Turner once played "Fuck, marry, kill" with Rose Leslie. Both girls admitted they want to bang Iain Glen. Now, look up the video on YouTube and then read the chapter again! ;-)


	4. Of the quiet before the storms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's not a typo. There are storms brewing. Who is going to get caught in them? Who is going to come out stronger, or happier?  
> For those who have had enough of romance and passion, there is a lot of strategy as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, I want to thank all the readers who left kudos and/or comments to a complete unknown, and I apologise if there are typos, mistakes, whatever. I will be happy to correct/improve if I or if one of you catches one!   
> I simply feel incredibly inspired for this AU, and I know many fans WILL need AUs after Sunday/Monday, so I am publishing my drafts after one review only (I usually let them rest one day). I hope the text is readable and enjoyable.  
> Lots of love, your romantic-perverse-nerdy hothead   
> ~BaPUG!

“This is dire tidings you bring us, Prince Bran. The Dead splitting to march on – we presume - White Harbor is dire news. We have alerted the Manderlys, but… we never thought the city would have been the recipient of their first attacks, and they are not as prepared as we already are. Besides, we are unable to tell why exactly they want to march on White Harbor too. While it is clear they have a strategy, we have no clue as to what this strategy entails. Is it just wiping out as many humans as possible? Is it a diversion? We might find an answer to these questions when it’s too late to counterattack proficiently.” Jorah was eloquent and bright in his assessment, and his appearance and posture were almost regal, despite the terrible matters he was talking about. Everybody noticed it: Tyrion and Jaime, in particular, could not understand why the preparations for the war hadn’t had the same toll on him they had on them and on many others at Winterfell. Sansa admired it, her heart full of love: she could not help but think that having that man on the battlefield, in the bedroom and in her life was the best thing that could ever happen to her in such difficult times. She crossed his gaze for an instant to convey her utter admiration, and the hint of a smile on his serious and focused face told her he had seen it and was grateful for it.

Jaime, still remembering the Whispering Woods, agreed: “I fear it is a diversion. What could they possibly want in White Harbor that they wouldn’t find here in Winterfell? They want to kill humans and enslave their corpses. Why take a longer road? I fear they want us to send troops and maybe have us split the dragons to save the port city.”

Jorah agreed: “Wise observation, Ser Jaime. I agree, you are probably right. Although we must not forget that the Walkers are beings with powerful magic, and they might know something we don’t’ know about White Harbor.”

Bran intervened: “Maybe it’s not White Harbor. Maybe it’s the Dreadfort. The Boltons **_have_** meddled in things that have something to do with magic, blood, and death. They might have never been proficient in the magic part, but they cast a dark shadow on their name.”

It was Jon’s turn to say something: “What do you suggest we do then?”

Jorah: “We have to warn the Manderlys, but we will not split our troops or do anything else. Bran will keep trying to use the Weirwoods and the ravens: recently, we have managed to avoid the Night King’s powers and counterattacks. Not that I like it: I hope it was just fate, or some luck, and not a deliberate choice by him. I also suggest you and Her Grace Queen Daenerys fly the dragons to check on the armies, to try and see what they might be doing. Of course, any engagement in combat has to be avoided if not strictly necessary. Stay clear from bow ranges, and from the Night King if possible. Have the one look out for the other, and return quickly.”

Jon: “That means Winterfell will be completely without dragons for a while.”

“Winterfell has scorpions, bows, trenches, the right weapons, fighters and plans. If one dragon stays here, the one who flies away to scout is more vulnerable, especially to ambushes, and if one of you alone crosses the Night King it will be the one against the other, with no support from the air or from the ground and no magic powers.”

Jon: “I don’t like it, the thought of Winterfell and of the neighbouring villages and settlements left without dragons… when you and Ser Jaime already agree it might be a bait… ”

Jaime: “Winterfell **_is aware_** there might be something going on, and is ready to face the Dead no matter what happens.”

Jorah: “White Harbor has some Dothraki and Unsullied reinforcements too. They have received our plans and strategies. We know very well a dragon can be taken down, and we planned everything thinking of a defence strategy that does not rely on dragons only. We also know we are only biding our time here at Winterfell before the Dead are here with their masters. Nothing will surprise us, other than some new magic of course. And even new magic as such would not be strictly a surprise.”

Daenerys: “It still feels wrong. Many people are living here. This is a longer scouting mission you are suggesting, as opposed to the previous ones… I could not bear to know the weak has been slaughtered because Jon and I were away.”

Jorah: “The Night King’s sudden absence is **_not_** something to be ignored. Why would a powerful leader with a flying wight mount suddenly avoid engaging in counterespionage or disturbing Bran’s activities? But even if he wants to attack Winterfell while you are away, we are prepared to face him. If they are baiting for one of you to fly alone instead, only luck can protect the dragon and the rider from becoming part of the Army of the Dead.”

Varys, never the military man but always the smart informer and the politician, tried to avoid the imminent clash with Jon and Daenerys – who were openly dissatisfied - and to calm the lords’ and sers’ stirring in the hall. “Ser Jorah, Ser Jaime, we all have faith in your insights, but surely there must be a way to incorporate **_our King’s and Queen’s views_** in your strategy?”

Jorah could not believe his ears: “No, this time we cannot. If we lose a dragon, or  - even worse - two, then our land defences really will have a hard time. It’s not the time for **_personal preferences_**. You have designed your commanders, now you have to trust them.” If most people took his words for a commander taking charge and for a strategist arguing his case effectively, Sansa recognized the annoyance in his tone and on his face. She was waiting for the right moment to intervene. Jon and Daenerys were, once again, blind to the shortcomings of their black-and-white idealist vision, an attitude that had constantly accompanied their ruling, and often put their titles in danger.

Tyrion backed his sort-of-friend. “Your Grace, you have to understand that being remembered as a Queen – or King - who always thinks of the people is useless, if there will be no people to remember you in the first place. You, Your Grace” and he looked at Daenerys “might have died on the battlefield before, and people would have remembered you, maybe picked up your fights. This is different, though. You know what happens if you die in this war.”

Jon exhaled, and knew he was cornered. “It feels like being Lord Commander Jeor Mormont’s steward again, I admit it. I trust you as I trusted him, Ser Jorah.”

“Thank you, Your Grace” replied Jorah.

Daenerys was not pleased. But then, she was now Jon’s Queen. She knew everything had changed, but she still wasn’t used to it, especially since this was the first time she felt the difference in being a Queen and being someone else’s queen. She played her last card: “Jon, I thought one of your duties would be to listen to your wife…”

“I _have listened_ to you, dearest wife, but **_I_** am the king. And Ser Jorah is the man who kept you alive many times. Ser Jaime, Lord Yohn Royce, Ser Davos, Lord Beric, the Free Folk commanders… we have so many people gathered here, and they all agree the danger we can face is leaving Winterfell without dragons for a while.”

Daenerys still didn’t want to give up, and tried with the sugared tone: “Ser Jorah… many times you have advised me to be careful, and many times I have listened to you in part, or ignored your advice…”

Jorah interrupted her: “Your Grace, I fear like you might be making my point instead of yours, so please don’t go on.” Sansa noticed he did not fall for the nostalgic feeling and for the camaraderie Daenerys had tried to elicit. He wasn’t bitter towards her, and he wasn’t nostalgic either: he simply didn’t want to lose time. Sansa felt happy, and also a little ashamed for being happy: she had no doubts about his feelings for her. She also knew Daenerys’ attitude following the rescue mission beyond the Wall had irreparably damaged Jorah’s bond with her, so much that he had distanced himself politely but firmly. However, she still liked to be constantly reassured Daenerys was in his past and in his past only.

Thus, Sansa decided to speak out as Queen, and as Jorah’s secret lady, not to mention as the woman who still hadn’t forgotten some of her brother-cousin’s shortcomings: “Jon, we have discussed this so many times. As much as I always appreciated your spirit of service and your being honest to a fault, you have often been blinded by them, and by many other beliefs and inclinations of yours. I am glad to hear that you are finally learning. Also, I would like to remind you that I am a Queen in my own right. I will make it clear: I trust Ser Jorah and Ser Jaime completely, not to mention Lord Tyrion, and I will make sure their orders are followed to the letter.”

“Thank you, Your Grace” said Jorah with a light bow of his head that meant more than most people thought. “We will prepare the dragon scouting immediately.”

\--

Jorah was watching the sky from the battlements. It was a clear, starry winter night. It would have been a wonderful night to be there and behold the firmament in Winterfell’s wild beauty, if it weren’t for the approaching threat, looming over their futures, and for the consuming concern the Night King’s unknown whereabouts and plans caused him.

He had ordered to keep a minimum of guards outside, and to see that they all had shelters in order not to be too vulnerable to a possible attack of the Night King on his dragon. Scorpions and bows were ready, too. He had explained that in case a quick flight was needed, the last thing they needed was crowded battlements and corridors, where people could hinder each other and become easily soldiers for the enemy if crushed to death, hit, or engulfed by the cursed iced fire the wight dragon spat.

He also decided to patrol the battlements alone, to be informed in real time of any worrying sign and to keep the troops moral high.

The peace and the calm was surreal, and the beauty of the snowed landscape was breath-taking. _Like my Sansa’s_ he thought and smiled.

The stars fascinated him so much, and he was soon lost in thoughts: thoughts of peaceful times, walks, hunts, and talks, with Sansa, with the other Starks, with his cousin.

He almost thought he was his mind when he heard Sansa’s voice. “I see you take your duties very seriously, Ser”. But then he turned, and she was there in person, accompanied by her sister. She had been looking at him for a while, tall, proud in his cloak, from afar, then she had come to him, yearning for his voice.

“My Queen, it is late, and cold, and it might even be dangerous, as you very well know.”

“ _I know_ , my knight, but I couldn’t sleep without you.” Arya sneered at her sister’s words. “So I thought a walk could help.”

“The point of me being here is exactly to keep you safe while sleeping, my love.”

“ _I know_ , but the safety I feel when you are next to me, or when I am in your arms is incredible,” she said with a smile. Arya sneered even more evidently, to Jorah’s amusement.

He took her hand and kissed it. “I promise I will make up for this night” and smiled back. “So far, everything seems quiet. I will be even more nervous if we are not attacked by the wight dragon tonight, I admit. Something is very wrong. But… I am sorry I am burdening you with these dire thoughts, my love.”

“Not at all, Jorah. I am a Queen, and I am your woman. I want to know. I am glad you share everything with me.”

Jorah decided to kiss her lightly but passionately. “Would you like to walk the battlements with me for a while? But not for too long. I meant what I said. And if anything looks strange, you run for cover immediately and try to make it back to your room safely, understood? Princess Arya, I am talking to you too. You are guarding the Queen right now. You will not engage in fighting until she is safely back in her chambers.”

“Of course, darling” said Sansa. Arya simply nodded.

“By the way, Princess, I am glad you are not opposing… us.”

“Well, I couldn’t really expect Sansa to forget all her ideas about knights, and marrying and making little princes and princesses, but at least you are not a Joffrey.”

Jorah was amused. “Is your list of requirements that simple? One only needs not to be Joffrey to be fit for your sister, the queen? It seems like a very low standard to me.”

Sana jumped in: “ ** _Jorah_** , this is Arya’s way of saying she likes you. But she does not really understand… well, me and you being together, and in love.”

“Oh, I see. Princess Arya prefers _sparring_ with her man. The poor lad really needs to improve with swords and daggers, though. I had volunteered for a few lessons, but he really likes his hammer. Unfortunately, I have been hammered by his father during the melee at Harrenhal, and I would not like to revisit those moments. Besides, if he is not swinging his hammer, he is sparring with blades with the Princess, who apparently enjoys her superiority.”

“Jorah, I feel like Gendry would need _a lot of advice about sparring_.” Sansa japed.

“Seven hells! Sansa!” was Arya’s reaction.

Jorah and Sansa laughed. “I think there is still time, my love. On the other hand, training with you, Princess, is always a pleasure. The Braavosi style might be very useful to face the Walkers. I am saddened we don’t have many people trained in their style. They would be a huge asset.”

The trio walked for a little, talking of things, cheerful and less cheerful, all three feeling very much like family: a feeling they all had yearned for during their last years.

Suddenly, Jorah noticed something in the sky, and he switched back to his commander self. “Go under that shelter, immediately” he pointed at the next guard stall.

It was two spots moving. He had to be prepared for the worst, and he sounded the horn. Once, for now.

After a while, he was relieved: it was clearly Jon and Daenerys returning on Rhaegal and Drogon, breathing. All the guards breathed in relief at the signals of “friend returning”.

He made it to the stall and called the two women out. “My love, I think it’s time for you to go now. We will have a meeting and we will discuss the bearings, then I will reach you soon. Go to bed.”

“I will be waiting for you, my love.”

“You don’t need to. Close your eyes, and try to sleep. You will be in my arms soon, I promise.” Jorah didn’t need to look at Arya to know she was sneering.

\--

Arya accompanied Sansa back. One thing was in her head, though, and she wanted to let it out. “Sansa, I didn’t want to address that in front of Jorah, but… what happens if you get pregnant? Do you want to have children with him? I haven’t noticed you drinking moon tea, or anybody preparing it…”

“Arya, don’t you think I haven’t thought about it?”

“So you are not risking children?”

“No, I mean I would love to have Jorah’s children. I am a queen. He is a knight, a Northerner, a man of honour. My children will be the children of a Queen in her own right,  princes and princesses. We haven’t really… talked about it, but when we first started our liaison, he said he was worried for me, and I told him I would never let anybody else decide of my life again. I think he has understood what I meant.”

“But you are not married. And only a few guards, Bran and I know about your relationship. If you get pregnant, it will still not be easy on the others, Northerners and allies alike.”

“Right now, there is no need for anything else. There is a war coming. It might be long before I am with child, or I might not be able to have any. That monster Ramsay raped me constantly, and I was never with his child, after all. Or… we might not survive the war. We will see. Right now, Jorah is still Daenerys’ sworn sword, and I would need to talk to Jon about… releasing him. It’s just not the right moment.”

“You want to marry him.” She stated.

Sansa only smiled.

Arya admitted: “Whatever happens, I will never let anybody take your throne away, or oppose your choices. I will protect your golden-haired princes and princesses too. Because I _know_ you will manage to have even your last wish granted…”

Sansa laughed: “Jorah’s hair is not golden. He has a few golden streaks, but he has also some ginger. And I am copper. Now you make me curious… what hair colour would our children have…”

Arya: “Ugh! Be happy I like him, or I would stab him tonight just to prevent all this to happen.”

\--

After two strenuous days, Jorah and Sansa finally managed to sit in front of their fireplace to relax and talk for long before heading to bed. They parted with Brienne, who had escorted the Queen so far, and took place on their armchairs.

Jorah could not get rid of the thought that the Night King’s absence was not good. “I am sorry to bother you with my thoughts, but I fear the Night King is up to something terrible. I hope we discover what it is. I could not bear to fail humanity, to fail **_you_** …”

“Jorah, the mere fact that you are asking yourself that very question, and that Ser Jaime agrees, constitutes hope, and an advantage. Don’t torment yourself. Samwell and Bran are working hard on it. Sam is the man who rescued you, don’t you trust him?”

“I do, my love. He knows already he will never leave Winterfell again, because I want him to look over you, in case you need a maester, or sort of.” He took her hand and kissed it. “But now let us talk about something cheerful.”

And in exactly that moment, a guard knocked. “Your Grace, Ser Jorah, Lord Tyrion is here.”

After a few curious stares, then Sansa ordered to let him in.

“Good evening, my dear friends. Ex-wife, ex-capturer!”

Jorah recognised the signs. “Roaring drunk, aren’t you? How did you manage it? Everything is rationed!”

“I think your court as well as Daenerys’ doesn’t want me to burden them with my thoughts and fears as I usually do when I am sober. Anyway, right now I am also here to escape those two incestuous lovers. I didn’t flee my sister only to find yet another incestuous couple to witness.” Tyrion threw himself down on another armchair. “Besides, they are boring conversationalists, and then they eye-fuck each other. Gods! I swear, I think Jaime will soon do them same way he did their father and grandfather. Gods, you cannot believe how much I miss you, **_Mormont_**.”

Jorah japed “I guess this one last admission might be what saves you from being charged with high treason.” Sansa was laughing wholeheartedly.

“It would be Jaime who does it. Not me. Pay attention when I speak, Mormont. Anyway, I am sorry to bother you – actually, to bother Sansa. Not sorry to bother Mormont. I would usually visit a brothel when I am in this state, but it seems that impending doom has made the noble profession of prostitution an uninteresting one. No one really knows how much money will be worth after the war, whatever the outcomes, and as for the demand of sex… those who want to have it, have it. For free. ‘No regrets’ seems to be the current mood in the population, high-born and low-born alike.”

Jorah did not like to hear Tyrion talking about prostitution in front of Sansa, but she noticed his  frown and stopped him with a stare from saying anything. She then announced: “Well, Tyrion, I guess you are welcome to share our evening of cheerful stories. After all, we all know each other quite well. We will spend some marvellous time, I am sure.”

Tyrion entertained the couple with many stories – or, better, versions of stories - ranging from Jaime’s bloopers to Jorah fighting in the pit of Meereen. The trio had a lot of fun, while Tyrion – who had been served water exclusively, on Sansa’s orders – slowly sobered up.

Sansa concluded: “Jorah’s deeds as a fighter might soon cloud Robert’s and Rhaegar’s. I think only Ser Arthur Dayne, and maybe Ser Barristan will rank above him.”

“My Queen, you are very kind, but now you are exaggerating” rebutted Jorah.

“Mormont, you do deserve a better song than _The bear and the maiden fair,_ I agree with my lovely ex-wife… I mean _with Her Grace Sansa of Winterfell_ , before your knightly self throws another disapproving stare at me. You still brood and glower better than anyone else does. But I guess we will leave that out of the song.”

The trio laughed wholeheartedly, and Sansa and Jorah exchanged a few furtive looks.

Tyrion asked: “So, it looks and sounds like you often meet here to exchange stories.”

“Yes, Queen Sansa loves stories and songs, and I have been telling her many.”

“I hope you didn’t sing too. You don’t strike me as a singer.”

“No, rest assured, Tyrion.”

“So, that’s why you disappear, I take it? As I said in the beginning, your presence in the Targaryens’ retinue after duty ends has been greatly missed. You might brood and glower, but you make for an interesting companion.”

It was Sansa who explained. “Yes, Jorah has been telling me many stories about the North, and Queen Daenerys. Jon has married, my other siblings mostly keep to their own… he has been a very pleasant companion indeed. So have you been yourself today, Tyrion.”

Tyrion accepted the statements for their face value, and then realised Queen Sansa might have given the cue that she wanted to retire to her chambers with those last words. He swirled the water, out of habit, insulted himself mentally for the stupid unconscious gesture – it was no wine -, drank a sip, and noticed Jorah hadn’t moved.

Tyrion asked himself if he ever truly mastered courtly manners. _He should stand up and help her rise. But maybe I am wrong. Maybe Sansa does not care for these things. She and Daenerys want to revolutionise everything…_

Then he felt observed. Both were smiling, but were also staring at him. _Did they notice I swirled water instead of wine? Do they want another jape?_

Then it hit him.

_Jorah’s deeds as a fighter might soon cloud Robert’s and Rhaegar’s._

_Queen Sansa loves stories and songs, and I have been telling her many._

_Jorah has been telling me many stories about the North … he has been a very pleasant companion._

The familiarity, the glances. Jorah disappearing from Daenerys’ life. Jorah’s **_harshly_** pragmatic and distanced stance during meetings. The admission he and Sansa had spent much time together. Jorah not looking miserable – looking good, actually -. Sansa looking incredible. Jorah not moving still, the couple clearly waiting for an output from him.

 _Uh. Oh._ “Excuse me… was I _really_ welcome here today?”

Sansa answered: “Of course you were. We love conversing in front of the fireplace, and you have been very entertaining. I meant what I said.”

“I don’t know, Your Grace. To me, it looks like I have… intruded?”

“Don’t you think I might have denied you access if it were the case?”

“I’ll give that to you. But you are not fooling me here. This – you meeting and spending evenings together, and talking - has been going on for a while, you said it yourself. And there are many other signs… there is no need to be ashamed. Although I admit that the thought… Sansa and Ser Jorah… oooh, see? Now **_your faces_** have finally answered me. Don’t worry, my friends. I am not telling anyone. But I would be a liar if I didn’t tell you that it surprises me of you, Mormont. Getting over Daenerys? I would have thought you would go for a hero’s death in her service, to be able to fall into the peace and oblivion of the gracve. And now you have moved on to another beautiful and young queen.”

Here Sansa drew the line: “I must ask you not to make fun of Jorah, Tyrion. And certainly not of our love.”

Sansa’s reply told Tyrion all he wanted to know but didn’t dare to ask. “So, there **_is_** a new song brewing, about a knight and his queen. You must tell me your secret, Mormont. Is it the glowering?”

Jorah said: “It probably helps not stumbling drunk into a Queen’s sojourn, and not hiding  behind jokes constantly.”

“ _I don’t believe you_. I get it. It’s your deep, expressive blue eyes and your remarkable cheekbones. And your height. Sansa is tall. I am sorry, Sansa, I cannot resist making fun of Mormont. But I mean no harm.”

“We know you are not a bad man, albeit your tongue can be poisonous at times. But please don’t spread the tale. The Northerners more or less know – they have seen us meeting, entering my apartments together and leaving them together, but they don’t talk much: it’s our nature. We are not ashamed of anything, but we don’t want to make our love an official business now, not before this war is over, if possible. Jorah is rebuilding his honour slowly but incessantly, and I want to show everybody I am a worthy queen first. No one must ever take us anything away thanks to our weaknesses. Do you understand?”

 _Definitely too much information now._ “I understand… everything. I must also admit that, although Jorah and I sometimes dare to differ, I can see him making you happy. And if he ever makes you unhappy, I can always ask Jaime to intervene, unless your sister is quicker. But I also have to be honest about one thing. Daenerys has been noticing your absences, and your distancing. She **_truly_** has. I told you once that she needed you, Jorah. I meant it. I am sorry for the way she treated you when she fell for Jon: she owed you at least respect, honesty, and some shared grief…”

“I remember very well what happened” interrupted Jorah.

“And Daenerys showed him she _doesn’t need him anymore_. No one here cares to hear the reasons for her behaviour. She has met her choices” added Sansa.

“I don’t think she is aware of this. Jorah’s love for her was so great and so full of devotion that she might have thought nothing would ever change. And she assumed their friendship was still there, waiting for her to give a cue or to order something. Now, she has discovered her husband is almost a stranger to her: they desire each other, they do have similar inclinations… but they come from different lands, different cultures, different values. And they barely know each other. Also, Jon is not an easy person to bring out of his shell. Jorah here is strangely different, although he has a gruff surface. Or maybe he and Daenerys had managed to understand each other very easily for some reason…”

“What do you want to tell me, Tyrion?” Jorah cut him short.

“Is Queen Daenerys going to come and take Jorah away because she wants someone to talk to her when she is not fucking my cousin?” growled Sansa.

“No, I don’t think she will. That’s not her. But she is still his queen. And she does miss him, I warn you. I wasn’t lying.”

Sansa felt worried, until Jorah reassured her: “Tyrion, I don’t see the point of this conversation. I have never denied her a word, or my counsel. I will fight for all of you. As for anything else, the past is over, for me. My wife chose money over me, and I left her with her merchant prince long ago, never to turn back. I loved her still the day I left her in Lys, without even hearing the words from her, but I could never forgive her that – knowing that she valued me so little. Daenerys wasn’t different: she showed me it wasn’t my counsel or my friendship she wanted: she simply didn’t want to be alone. I am not blaming her, mind you: I understand her. She has suffered much, and I have witnessed many of her woes. It’s only natural she would like to have someone on her side. She found someone, worthier than me, and that someone has become her everything. Whereas she has discovered I was only the one who happened to be there, and I was worth nothing.”

“I think it’s not like you describe it…I do not agr...”

“It is. Deeds matter more than words. Or even if it isn’t, it doesn’t really matter. Jon **_is_** the kind of man who will be there for her when she needs him, and even Sansa agrees. He is the man who threw a parlay to the wind for her, and who embraced a new identity for her. I am happy I kept her safe and made her feel not alone, but our time together is over. She will find a way to make treasure of all we experienced together, I am sure of it. Anyone meddling would only prevent her from growing up, and now that she is a wife and a queen she needs to grow up.”

Tyrion resigned, noticing the friendly but distanced tone, and the sincere gaze that crossed his. “You truly don’t love her anymore. Not romantically, I mean. I get you are being chivalrous…”

“There is no need to hate her, or to deny I loved her. As I loved Lynesse. But I know when I have to disappear from a woman’s life. And yes, I also know now that there are different women, women who would struggle to keep me in their life” and he looked at Sansa with gratitude.

She smiled.

“Sansa, I am sorry I forced your… man to speak of another woman in front of you. Two, but I hadn’t asked about the first one, to be honest.”

“Don’t worry Tyrion. It is one of the things we have talked about first. It’s probably the tale that brought us together.”

“I can imagine. Two puppy-eyed suckers for romance. Well, at least I have to admit you still know how to behave in public. So… I guess your secret is safe with me, although I warn you: it might come out somehow. Unless the Walkers arrive first.”

“Thank you for the reassuring image, Tyrion. We really needed it.”

\--

When Jorah and Sansa were finally alone in their chamber, Sansa admitted: “I shouldn’t say that, but it’s always beautiful when you declare how you love me and only me now.”

“Don’t be ashamed. You deserve to hear how much I love you at least every hour.” He kissed her on her neck, hugging her from behind, as he loved doing every time they entered their room. “You wonderful woman.” And he covered her neck and shoulders with kisses, then turned her around to kiss her fully on her mouth, and to shower her face with other kisses. She returned the attentions by worshipping his cheekbones, his beard, his neck, and his Adam’s apple. “But now I will **_show_** you how much I love you.”

\---

That evening, only their Dothraki and Unsullied guard attended to the Targaryens’ supper. Even Tyrion had last deserted it, although they had not officially requested to be left alone.

Daenerys thought it would be a good occasion to work on her relationship with Jon. _Jorah and I have had uncountable times together. Jon and I just met. Most of the time on Dragonstone was simply me greeting him, asking him to bend the knee, and he refusing, and working at dragonglass mining and weapon-forging._

Jon smiled shyly at her. He was so sweet when he did that. He had kept his curls free, as she had requested.

“It’s beautiful we are by ourselves. We have to make up for the last days” she said.

“It’s true. Especially when we have proof now that every evening could be our last peaceful one. They are only days away.”

“Are you sure you want to fight on the ground?”

“I have Valyrian steel, and swordsmanship, not to mention Ghost. You can control both dragons alone. When you kill the Night King’s mount – or when one of our scorpions does - , someone will have to tackle him and pierce him with the right blade, which means we need as many skilled sword fighters on the ground as we can deploy. Jorah is right about this. Besides, someone has to lead our army.”

“Jorah should.”

“I feel like he should fight with the Northerners. The War of the Five Kings has taken away many leaders from our… I mean, from Northern families. And **_I_** have to lead. Lord Beric agrees. You know why. I came back…”

“I don’t like knowing you are on the ground, which will be swarming with wights and with Walkers.”

“Rest assured your position is far more dangerous. Drogon might be hit, you might be hit, the Night King might have powers we do not foresee, and his iced fire is reason enough to worry. Falling from a dragon is a death sentence. I, on the other hand, can defend myself. I have always fared well. I only let you ride Drogon and go along with Jorah’s plan because I trust him, and because I trust your thirst for revenge over any cursed power we might cross.”

“You are **_not letting me do_** anything, Jon. Not even Jorah had ever presumed to talk to me like that.”

“Maybe that’s because he is a knight and not a king?”

“This is not going well, isn’t it?”

“No, it isn’t.”

“I… am sorry, Jon, but it is all so difficult.”

“Don’t worry. When Jorah’s father made me his steward, I reacted badly too.”

Daenerys saw an opening. “Tell me about that.”

“I was sure I would be destined to the rangers when I finally swore my oath to the Night’s Watch. I was castle-trained, I was… well, good with a sword and on a horse. But I was destined to the stewards nevertheless. Cleaning maids, cooks, and all the like. I was disappointed. Then I learned that I was to be Lord Commander Mormont’s steward, that he had asked for me himself. Sam managed to explain me that he did it because he wanted me to learn from him, to groom me for command. I had a few tense moments still, but I learned from him a lot, and now I am grateful for my experience.”

Daenerys couldn’t bring herself to admit loudly she had learned so much thanks to Jorah, Jeor’s son. She had told Jon, that first day when they met in the throne room at Dragonstone, that she had always believed in herself. It was true, she had believed in her instinct. But she hadn’t been alone.

So, she tried to continue the conversation in another manner. “How was Jorah’s father like?”

“He did look a little like him. Tall, strong, blue eyes, similar face… Broader and stouter though. More brooding, and more harsh, believe me. But I guess the Wall wasn’t kind on anyone. The day he talked about Jorah was the day I saw feelings in him… so I think they were very much alike, more than I could possibly tell. I am sorry they never met again.”

Daenerys listened in silence, and in silence ate her last bite.

“Daenerys?”

“Yes?”

“Did anything upset you?”

“No, no, certainly not. So, I recall you saved Jorah’s father from a wight.”

“Yes, I saved _Jeor_ from a wight.”

“Tell me the entire story, Jon.”

And so Jon told her of the wights they found thanks to Ghost, of his brawl, his punishment, and of the wight he burned, of his uncle and his ranging that never returned, and of the beginning of the Great Ranging. He refused to continue, since he explained that the ranging was a long and difficult story. He didn’t want to talk to Daenerys of Ygritte, of Craster, and of many other things. Not now, anyway.

“It’s a pity Jorah and Jeor were estranged. If we had known that you were already fighting them… Jorah would have managed to convince me to leave Slavers’ Bay. I hope we can now make up for the time lost.”

Jon nodded. “I think we can.”

Not even an hour later, Daenerys was biting Jon’s neck and feeling his muscles through his clothes in their bedroom. Daenerys dropped her dress under Jon’s admiring stare. She quickly undressed him too, and he lifted her to sit her on the bed, then knelt before her.

“I like making you a queen” he said before putting his mouth to a different task than talking.

Daenerys thought for an instant of Jorah kneeling in front of her naked, long ago. A flash through her mind, bringing back that memory.

Then she decided to focus on the dark wild curls between her legs, and on the pleasure.

Instead of mounting him, she asked him to _fuck her_ in that position, she sitting on the edge of the bed, and he contracting his torso muscles with every stroke. She wrapped her legs around him, and he grasped her thighs to obey her orders. His strokes went deep into her, his groin reached her clit, and she loved it very much.

She threw her head back in pleasure and touched her breasts, kneading them lightly, stroking her nipples, her eyes closed to concentrate on the pleasure.

Jon felt himself growing even harder at the sight of that beautiful woman so lost in pleasure. He moaned between sighs: “Dany…”

_Dany._

_Viserys called me that. I told him._

She dismissed the thought and concentrated on the pleasure, arching her back further and increasing her nipple stimulation, then let her mind drown in pleasure.

 _Daenerys_ her mind suggested. A low voice thick with emotion and arousal calling her _Daenerys_ during sex. Her own arousal heightened.

A taller men, bending over her to suck her nipple from that position, moaning, and growling _Daenerys, Khaleesi, my Queen_ in a lower version of a honey-like Northern voice. Blue eyes daring her not to give in into the pleasure, but  in fact triggering her to do just that, to peak, gloriously.

She came hard. “Ohhhhh. Jo….. oooohhh!”, her legs squeezing Jon as strongly as her inner walls did.

In a few strokes, Jon flooded her with his seed and collapsed on her with his head on her breasts.

Daenerys removed her thoughts, almost kicking them into a remote corner of her brain.

She stood up after a while, and wiped herself with a sponge and some water.

“Dany, are you alright?”

“I am not sure. I think… I might be coming up with something. I am sorry I stood up after being intimate, Jon, but… I really needed to refresh myself. Would you like some water, too? I know I exhaust you with my demands,” she said with a grin.

“Yes, thank you, my love, I would like that.”

They smiled at each other, and said nothing. He was looking at her in awe, her long silver hair her only cover, her body still flushed from the pleasure.

_It will be all right. Soon. I am adjusting to a new life, with a new person._

But after a while, Jon was snoring, and she was still awake, and nervous, and felt a void inside her.

She had missed Jorah’s friendship for weeks now, and the same was true for more heartfelt and personal advice than the one she got from him recently. She had missed her connection to him. She was sure it was just her being so used to him, after almost six years with him. But she also remembered their connection was instant, and deeper than “He is  young and handsome/she is young and beautiful”. He had given her books about Westeros, and she found it a sweet thing to do. He had felt sorry for her pain, and she had been grateful.

_It’s done, it’s done, and now we all must live with it._

_But maybe he can help me still, now. He has always given me sound advice._

She stood up, and went to look for Jorah.

\--

The guards in Sansa’s apartment stirred: _Queen Daenerys Targaryen_ was approaching.

“Your Grace, what can we do for you?”

“I was looking for my sworn sword, Ser Jorah Mormont, but he was not in his room. I inquired a little, and some guard told me I might find him in the sojourn in Queen Sansa’s apartments, since he sometimes spent his evenings there to exchange tales.”

One of the younger guards had to fight hard the need to laugh at Daenerys’ words.

 “Your Grace, it is true. Ser Jorah was in Her Grace’s sojourn until recently.” It was the truth, after all.

“And where is he now?”

“I am afraid we cannot help you any further, Your Grace.”

“Is that how you answer your queen? Aren’t you sworn to serve her?”

“To serve **_her_** , it’s true.”

Daenerys could not believe her ears. “I am her cousin by law and her ally. You are not doing her a favour by refusing to help me!”

One of the guards, a wiser one, intervened: “Your Grace, would you mind following us to the sojourn? Maybe a glass of mulled wine, sitting by the fire? We will find immediately some way to help you.” The guard meant to have her calm down and discuss a way out with his comrades while she drank and relaxed.

The idea was undoubtedly smart, and ended up solving the conundrum effectively by itself: while they escorted Queen Daenerys to the sojourn, the loud screams of pleasure resonated in the corridor. The procession stopped, Daenerys listened.

After a while, she broke into a run and made it back to her apartments, fighting back tears.

\--

Sansa was putting on her nightgown to be ready to ask for their breakfast tray, and Jorah was sitting on the bed with his trousers on, pulling on the socks, when they heard somebody knocking.

The couple gazed at each other. Sansa asked: “Who is that?”

“Sansa, it’s me. It’s Jon. Please open, as soon as you are modest. I know what’s going on, don’t worry about that. No need to hide anybody”

Astonishment. Realisation. Acceptance.

An unspoken conversation took place: Jorah moved on to the chair and grabbed his shirt, and Sansa laced her gown and went to the door.

“Come in.”

A few stares among Jon, Sansa, and Jorah were exchanged. Jon’s face was unreadable.

“I hope I haven’t scared you. I am not here on my behalf, you need to know. And you don’t have to fear anything from me”

Silence.

Jon reprised: “I am here because my wife Queen Daenerys complained about her sworn sword not being in his quarters, ready to serve her when she urgently needed his advice.”

“I am sorry…?”

“Daenerys was looking for Ser Jorah yesterday. She needed some advice. She hasn’t told me exactly about what, but she says she is not feeling well, and she certainly looks like something is wrong – I hope the North is not taking a toll on her. However, Jorah wasn’t anywhere to be found. Sansa, you understand Jorah has pledged himself to her long ago, don’t you?”

“Of course, and he **_is_** serving all of us. At night, I don’t think he should stay alone in a room simply waiting for Daenerys to call him, if she calls him. Especially not now that she has someone beside her all the time. Or am I missing something, Jon?” Sansa was more worried about Jon’s wellbeing and happiness than anything else.

“No, you are not. But he _has been_ her advisor and friend for so long. She **_really_** needed to talk to him yesterday. And it does not change the fact that he should stay at her disposal always. Not to mention that a Queensguard…”

Sansa cut in. “For a woman who always talked about changing things and breaking chains, she sure seems to love old traditions when they suit her! He is still serving her, as is serving you, and me, and Westeros. What he does after his duties have ended is none of your business! And don’t try to mention the old tradition of celibacy… **_don’t you dare_** , Jon. She shouldn’t mention it to be coherent with her proclaims, and you… you lost the right to talk of it long ago.”

“Sansa, I had to tell you. It does not mean I agree. But Daenerys was furious, and I had to come and talk to you: talking to her would not be easy. What **I** would say to you, as Jon, is actually something else: are you happy, dear cousin? I seem to understand that this has been going on for a while…”

“Happier than you could possibly imagine” she smiled.

Jorah, who had not said a word so far and was barely breathing in fear, was relieved. “I was starting to worry. As for my duties, I …”

Sansa did not want to hear it. “No, Jorah, this makes absolutely no sense. I don’t know what was going on yesterday, Jon, but I am sure Daenerys can ask for Jorah’s advice any time during daytime or during his shifts. And I am sure Daenerys does not want to perpetuate old oppressing traditions. Besides, she has been utterly ignoring him for a long time. Why suddenly this urgency?”

“Sansa, I agree with you, but Daenerys is insisting Jorah has neglected his oath and his service, and it’s an offence... She is talking very much like a queen, even when she talks to me about this incident. That is why I came myself, by the way. I didn’t want her to attack you… and not the man who, it seems, is making you happy.”

Sansa knew it was time, and stood up for her speech. “Then, Jon, as the Queen in the North and as your cousin who grew up as your sister, I have an official request, and that is that Ser Jorah is to be dismissed with honour from his service to Daenerys Targaryen. She does not need to have him in her retinue, as her sworn sword. He will always serve all of us – he is an honourable knight. But his place now is not at your court, Jon. That part of his and of Daenerys’ life is over. He is a Northerner. And he is my lover. Dismiss him with honour, so that he can serve the North. Set him free, so that he can be my husband.”

Jorah was stunned. “Sansa…”

Jon as well. “Your husband…”

“Yes. We love each other, we are perfect together. I will have a husband, a faithful knight, and a valuable advisor. You and Daenerys are family, and we will always work together, even after the war. Of course, since Jorah has given up any right to hold lands as a condition for his reconciliation with the Northerners, and since I am the queen, he will only be Prince Consort, and our children will be Starks.” And she turned to Jorah “I am sorry I had to force this, but I knew I wanted to marry you and you knew it too, even if we had never said the word. We had agreed we didn’t want to lose our minds on definitions, and legal implications, and maybe upsetting someone… you know, the war, the alliance… a wedding seemed unnecessary until we had not sorted out what kind of future we all would have… but now that the occasion is here, I feel like it is the moment.“

Jorah smiled. “My love, you honour me. Are you sure you want to bind yourself to me?” and he went to his knees.

“I am the one who asked you to marry. Ordered you, to be honest.” And she laughed and took his hands. “I cannot imagine a more fitting consort for me, at my side, even if we don’t consider how in love we are. My knight.”

He kissed her hands. “MY love. I hope I deserve it, and I hope everybody accepts our union.”

Jon, fighting emotion, intervened: “Sansa is loved by her people. They will trust her judgement. And you are gaining a lot of admiration too, Jorah. But remember: if you make her suffer, you will still have to deal with me, dismissed from my court or not” and he extended his hand to him: the King and the Prince-to-be grabbed each other’s forearm in perpetual friendship and in mutual agreement. “So, it had been lingering there all the time. Us being family.”

“Jon, will you please help me organise the dismissal ceremony?”

“And the other ceremony too, my dear Sansa. I will always be here for you, you know it.”

Sansa and Jon hugged, and Jorah was happy to know they were all going to be family, be it for a few days or for a lifetime.

 


	5. Of the holiest oath of humankind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The most romantic characters in the saga crown their dream.  
> Other characters are happy for them  
> Someone learns that some choices cannot be unmade.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge thanks to all the readers!  
> Same warning as the previous two chapters applies: I haven't re-re-re-re-read as usual, but only reviewed once. Get back to me for typos and mistakes.  
> I inserted some bits from the books: I hope readers will appreciate!  
> I was tempted to insert a picture explaining one scene, but I am not too sure about AO3's guidelines...

Sansa’s and Jon’s courts were gathered that same day to honour Jorah’s long service at Daenerys’ side, and to hear his pledging to a new queen.

Daenerys fought her feelings, sought for Jon’s support with glances, and put up her most queenly voice and posture. “My dear knight… I thank you for your years of service at my side. Your deeds will never be forgotten. I had promised to you long ago that I would give you back your home. Now my promise is fulfilled. I return you to the North. You are hereby dismissed with the utmost honour from my service. May the Gods always protect you, and may your future service shine even brighter.”

She was dying inside with every word. But she was Daenerys Targaryen, the blood of the dragon, wife to the Northern Dragon. This was her destiny. And she saw Jorah smile to her, sincerely and openly, and she was suddenly happy for him. For that instant, she was alive again.

Jon added a few words: “I will always be grateful to the man who kept my lady wife safe and made her who she is. I am glad to know we will still fight side by side in our alliance.”

Then Jorah moved to his Queen, and knelt, keeping his gaze connected to hers until the very last, when he finally bowed his head, drew his sword, and laid it at her feet.

“My sword is yours, my life is yours, my heart is yours. I vow to serve you, fight for you, live for you, die for you, if need be.” he proclaimed.

Not everybody in the hall caught the real meaning of Jorah’s diversion from the standard oath. Not until Queen Sansa stood up and spoke.

“Arise, ser. I hereby accept your oath. But I also ask you to pledge one more time to me, in front of a heart tree, in the holiest and highest of all oaths. Pledge to me completely as my husband and become my Prince consort.”

The astonishment of the lords and knights and of the others attending resounded loud.

“I will, my Queen.”

Tyrion Lannister clapped his hands once, twice, then broke into a proper applause, and slowly everybody joined him.

\--

Since baking a few pigeon pies did not take long, the people at Winterfell _demanded_ the couple marry that same evening, for exactly that reason. Other reasons adducted were that they all wanted something to cheer them up in the wait for their fell enemy. Also, some suspected, a few inhabitants wanted to get a little bit tipsy – drunkenness being severely prohibited for safety reasons.

Jorah felt sorry for not giving Sansa a dream wedding, but he and she both knew that there wasn’t enough food to feast, as well as no time and almost no resources to tailor wedding dresses for them. Sansa was beautiful enough as she was, in her winter coat, in any of her dresses. Besides, she would be even more beautiful once naked for the consummation, he argued. She responded that he was too handsome to be left wandering through Winterfell as a bachelor, judging by the stares that many women and a few men had dared throw at him, stares she definitely wanted to put an end to.

So, the people prepared the pies, opened a few wine casks – not too many, as getting drunk was prohibited in order to avoid being surprised by the Night King in a state unfit to fight back. Jorah and Sansa prepared best they could, and shortly after sunset a procession had formed.

\--

They now stood in front of the heart tree, in their cloaks, groomed, and happy. Torches and lamps were everywhere: in people’s hands, in the snow, and made the white wonderland glow and twinkle.

Samwell was asked to perform the ceremony, despite him being a Southron: Sansa did not feel that much of a bond with Maester Wolkan, whereas Sam had a connection to Jorah and Jon, and was beloved by almost everyone.

Sansa had asked to get rid of the “give away” symbolism. She wanted to show that she was marrying Jorah because she wanted to. So, she had prepared the ceremony, and made notes for Sam to read – or to use for inspiration, provided he respected the couple’s guidelines.

The poor man thus had to hold a parchment in front of his eyes with the Northern ceremonial words, heavily revisited by Sansa herself with Jorah’s approval:

“Who comes before the Old Gods?”

“Sansa of Winterfell, of House Stark, Queen in the North”

“And Jorah of Bear Island, of House Mormont, a knight in the service of the Kingdom of the North.”

“Why are you here, in this sacred place?”

“To be wed in front of the Northern Gods, of the Northern people, and of our allies” the couple answered together.

“So… Sansa, do you take this man as your lord husband?”

“I take this man” her eyes sparkling and twinkling.

“Jorah, do you take this woman as your lady wife?”

“I take this woman” Jorah almost choked from the emotion.

“Now, the bride and the groom… hold hands… and kneel, and pray in silence. As we will all do: let us all kneel in silence and pray our Gods, so that they witness this union and bless it.” The request was very diplomatic, in order to appeal to all the presents.

After a minute, Sam motioned for the couple to rise. “You may now… exchange your cloaks.” Sansa had pointed out that they would be protecting each other, according to their personal inclinations and to the situation.

After the cloaks were exchanged, Sam proclaimed, reading from another scroll: “I now proclaim you lawfully wedded husband and wife. With this union, Queen Sansa and the North accepts any child born of it as rightful heir to the throne of the Kings and Queens in the North, following equal primogeniture law. Ser Jorah assumes the title of Prince Consort Jorah, beside his knightly and advising service at court. He accepts he has forfeited any claim to lands and to any titles other than his knighthood, and renounces any claim in the line of succession, keeping only regency privileges if these are needed for the sake of the North.” Sam put down his scroll and added on his own accord: “Now the bride and groom may kiss!”

Jorah took Sansa’s head while she put her hands behind his neck, and they exchanged a romantic kiss, their heads slightly angled, their tongues slowly caressing, expressing their joy and their love.

The Dothraki guarding Jon and Daenerys applauded, under the glowering stares of the Northerners and the curious glances of the rest.

Jon felt immensely happy to see Sansa getting what she always wanted: a knight, love, romance, soon maybe even children.

Daenerys, taking advantage of the attention the couple drew on itself, let out one single tear, and felt a knife to the heart. Then she straightened up, and told herself _I am the blood of the dragon. It was my destiny. Jon even took a real knife to the heart, and is still here, beside me. I will get over this._

_Be happy, my bear. You are my bear. My knight. My true friend…_

Another tear. Then another.

Jon didn’t say a word.

\--

Finally, Jorah was able to pick up his love and bring her to their room. Both laughing, they left the small feast between laughter, howls, whistling, bawdy commentaries, and even a few people singing _The bear and the maiden fair_.

Jorah commented: “I am glad this is my last wedding. I honestly cannot stand hearing that song being sung at me when I take my bride to bed.”

“My love, even when I think you cannot possibly court me and seduce me better, you still manage to surprise me. _My last wedding…_ My sweet, sweet knight… and husband. My prince.”

“I think it will take a long time to get used to ‘prince’, my love.”

“Oh, I am planning on helping you with that _… my prince!”_ she whispered the last word in his ear, taking care to graze it seductively, making him shiver.

“It might work” he gulped. “But nothing makes me burn from desire like the way you say my name.” He put her down, kissing her neck with passion, then turning her around to claim her mouth.

They undressed quickly, only wanting to be naked in bed to explore each other. Jorah decided to kiss every single inch of her skin, and Sansa agreed to return the favour. They wanted to know each other completely, now that they were united by every possible oath. Jorah also wanted to comb her hair with his hands, to kiss it – she had put an enticing perfumed oil into it that made it shiny and even more alluring. Then he reprised their favourite foreplay, making her scream in pleasure by dedicating himself to her teats and to her folds with mouth and fingers.

He entered her without even waiting for her to come down from her last peak, wanting to possess her and be possessed. They tightened their grip on each other. Tenderness and passion alternating, they repeated “I love you” a thousand time. Jorah mastered all of his techniques to make it last, to make love and to fuck her. They frantically explored every angle, every position: they started with him on her, then continued with him making her feel it deeper by pulling her to the edge of the mattress and by standing between her legs: deep, strong blows and almost complete withdrawals, his body rubbing her clit with every blow. Then he climbed over her again, to feel all of her. They rolled on the bed, letting her ride him for a while. She was majestic, a true queen: her glowing skin, her waving hair, her face deformed by pleasure, her hair and teats bouncing, her hips searching for pleasure, her hands exploring his chest. And he felt incredible: stretched like that, handsome, his cock reaching deep inside her on her command. Then he sat up to fuck her harder, all the while showing her his love for her with kisses and with his arms.

He slowed down, wanting it to last forever, and she pushed him back down, her on him, embracing tenderly. Slow movements let them kiss and draw some breath, but when they both felt the need to increase their speed, Jorah turned them lightly on their side, still hugging her tightly. He kissed her, gazed into her eyes, and asked: “I want to try something new, my love, if you trust me. Something that will keep us hugging very tightly while making love in an unforgettable way.”

“I trust you.”

He motioned to turn her around in his arms, and then lifted one arm to put it around her chest, as to keep her head next to him, while the other hand was on her hips. He almost leaned back, adjusting. The moves had him pull out, and Sansa felt oddly empty.

Jorah lifted her upper leg, and caressed her clit a little, while his cock grazed her inner lower lips. He kissed her neck, then turned her upper body to make her lean almost completely on the mattress, whereas her hips were still leaning on the side, and so was he. He kissed her deeply, caressed her teats, and readjusted their bodies: his hips were firmly behind hers, her upper leg was lifted, their faces were incredibly near, and he hugged her with an arm. He shifted a little to find the right position, and he entered her again from behind.

“Ooh, Jorah… it’s… very deep. And intimate” she said, gazing intensely into his eyes, enjoying how deep he reached and how strong she felt his tip against her walls. He began to fuck her again, stroking her clit with his hand for a while, and kissing her continuously on her mouth and on her neck. After a while, they had found the right angle, so that he could use one of his legs to stimulate her clit, he could fuck her deep and hard by holding her hips with one hand, as well as kiss her, and knead and stroke her teats.

First he brought her completely to oblivion from the physical and the mental orgasms, then he finally peaked too, pushing deep inside her, as she loved him to do, his hand on her mound to lock him inside her. He felt her shiver again, and nipped her shoulder and licked her ear to express how much it made him even more happy and satisfied.

They both could have sworn their bodies never seemed to stop pulsing in the aftermath of their pleasure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, how do you think this will go on? What is happening here? What do you think will happen? Some sentences are left open/ambiguous by choice: how do you read them?  
> Have fun and make your suppositions!


	6. Of humanity's last stand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We all know what's coming for them.  
> Romance meets war meets fantasy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feat. a tribute to Syrio Forel, and other tributes as well.  
> Tell me if there are any typos, mistakes, clumsy sentences...

King Jon, Prince Jorah, and Princess Arya escorted the small procession to the crypts of Winterfell, led by Queen Sansa, Lady Lyanna, Missandei, Sam and his family, and Maester Wolkan. Many others followed: household members not in the right shape to fight and assorted civilians from the North, the weakest first. Guards brought food, water, furs, blankets, a few books and scrolls, some dragonglass weapons for any eventuality.

Samwell did not like it much. “What if the Night King manages to rise the Starks of old?”

“The Starks of old have been fighting the same enemy we are facing. They knew what they were doing when they build their crypts, probably even their castle. Even Bran is sure of it” cut short Jorah, who had enough on his mind already to be able to stand yet another discussion concerning the use of the crypts as a shelter.

“But… some of the swords…”

“… have rusted away, or have been taken by Bran and Rickon, it’s true. It does not mean they were the only spells they put on the tombs. Besides, most of them will be just a few bones now, nothing you cannot take care of _, if it truly comes to it_ ” assured Arya. “I know the secrets of death more than you can possibly imagine, and even more than those icy necromancers can imagine. I will punish them for the offence they bore to the Many-Faced God with their puppet show.”

Trying to steer away the attention from a princess worshipping death and saying weird things, Jorah explained: “We need a place where civilians, food and resources can be as safe as possible from the cursed iced fire of their dragon and from any other attack. The crypts are as safe as we can have, and they are warm too, deep down. I would not envy those who will have to be sheltered in a less protected room. Only a few walls could not be enough, fires can run out, and so can wood. We still don’t know enough about our enemy, as Bran always repeats. We have to use some logic when we cannot use magic.”

Lyanna was still not convinced, but for other reasons: “I am the only Lady who is not riding or marching out with her troops!” she said with a scowl on her face.

“What kind of advantage would it be, an eleven-year old, not grown in height, strength, and experience yet, amidst enemies? No one is thinking any less of you for sitting out this one, Lyanna. And I want you to stay next to your cousin, do you understand me? I want to know my family is safe, and warm, and is sharing stories and japes, and naps and hugs,” he added, his voice shifting from the initial firmness to emotion.

They arrived to the statue of King Jorah Stark: they had agreed it would be a good omen if they waited out the battle there, next to a Jorah and to many Brandons – including Brandon the Builder. “Here, Lyanna. See? King Jorah Stark. Ask Sansa and Samwell if they know more about him. You will have to tell me when I am back, understood?” Jorah squatted down to look his cousin in the eyes, then hugged her tightly. “Be good, and be brave, my little cousin.”

“Come back soon, cousin.” She hugged back, letting her last act down, and she gave Jorah a wet kiss on his scruffy beard. She had missed her family so much, and now she dreaded losing her last living relative, discovered after years of being alone on Bear Island.

Jorah seemed to sense it: “You know Queen Sansa is your cousin too, right? I can tell you she likes hugs as well” and blinked.

Arya parted with her sister with a hug, too. Sansa went to the core of the matter: “I hope your _beliefs_ don’t make you too eager to dance with death. You are my sister, and as different and…well, crazy as you are, I love you.”

“We are all dancing with death. We begin with our first breath, and finish in her cold arms. What makes a difference is how skilled we are in dancing with her to keep the dance going on, flowing smoothly for as long as we have strength.”

“Your words are queer, but reassuring. Your fighting **_is_** like dancing.”

“Sister, do you know what we say to the God of Death?”

“I definitely don’t.”

“Only one thing. _Not today_. And then we keep dancing.”

Arya stepped back, and Jon moved forward. “Sansa… you’ll be all right, will you?” emotion in his eyes, memories of too many battles and too many farewells in his mind.

“Of course. It’s not like I wasn’t prepared for this. You know, I feel much better here, now, than I felt during the siege of King’s Landing. At least this is my home, and there is my family here.” _And as terrible as my end might be, there will be no rape._

“Goodbye, Sansa.” He hugged her, and she hugged him back. “Goodbye, Jon.”

Then Jon made room for Jorah to greet his love. They first held hands, to exchange some words. “Do you feel like you have enough of everything, my love?”

“I hope so. We’ll do with what we have, anyway.”

“Even if things should look dire… you… never, ever give up. Lyanna is trained, Sam… well, Sam is resourceful, and many other people might fare better than we know. Stay close to them, and keep a torch and a dagger close too, all the time.”

“And here we are, we, the romantic lovers who love songs and tales… parting with words that are not romantic at all” Sansa attempted a jape.

“Life is full of irony, as usual. But nothing will change our story so far, my love, for it has  already been written. And I will charge the enemy with your name on my lips” he said, grazing her lips with his finger while he mentioned them. Jorah omitted he had resolved her name would be on his lips even in the moment of death: there was no need to say it, and there was certainly no need to remind her of Prince Rhaegar’s sad fate.

“Here is my knight in shining armour” she said with a sad, worried smile.

He kissed her passionately, holding her tightly.

“I love you.”

“I love you.”

With a last, longing look they parted. “Goodbye, my love.”

“Goodbye, my love. I will be waiting for you. Don’t disappoint me.”

Jorah could not promise her nothing, even if he wanted too.

As soon as they were out of ear, Jon asked: “How does Sansa feel about us having the task of making for the White Walkers?”

“As a queen who knows what is to be done to pursue a future for her people, and for her. Doesn’t Daenerys feel the same?”

Jon had revealed Jorah that Daenerys had skipped her moon blood twice already. He had told him after they received word from Bran that it was time to have the infantry march out.

He had not told him about the feeling of uneasiness that had increasingly shadowed their passionate relationship, especially after he had put many signs together and had seen a worrying pattern. _Maybe I really know nothing. Maybe I know nothing of her. Or maybe I know nothing of pregnant women, and I am misreading it all_ he tried to rationalise or to discard his thoughts. He wasn’t sure about any of his thoughts, but he was sure **_he_** wanted to be Daenerys’ confidant, and Jorah’s friend. Therefore, he decided that Jorah had to hear the news from him, not from her. He thus discovered that Daenerys was honestly convinced she was barren, and had told Jorah the same long ago. Jorah had brought her into a tent where a sorceress was doing dark magic, because she was giving birth and he didn’t want her to be unattended and risk her life. Hence, she had been cursed. What her current pregnancy meant, he couldn’t understand. How much Daenerys and Jorah had really gone through together, on the other hand, he suddenly understood. Jon hadn’t even inquired further on the circumstances that lead them to be in presence of a sorceress.

It wasn’t Jorah he feared at all. Jorah’s heart was Sansa’s through and through. He hadn’t gotten much information from Sansa, although he had tried, but his cousin had explained that Jorah felt that his and Dany’s Essosi adventures were over, and that his place was in the North, where he belonged. However, _the shadow_ of Jorah was lurking in Daenerys’ soul: it didn’t matter in which way, or for what reason: if she was regretting marrying him and not her former knight, or she simply had to get used to Jorah not being the most important person in her life after years of closeness.

And he wanted to get rid of that shadow: he owed it to her, to their marriage born of a night of mutual desire and passion, and of a whirlwind wedding in White Harbor. Many people married because ordered to; they had married because of… he hoped it was love, the same love he saw in Sansa and Jorah now – and, on a funnier, clumsier note, in Arya and Gendry. Passion, for sure. A connection, undoubtedly.

After losing himself in his thoughts, he got back to answering his cousin by law: “Yes, of course. There is no future for our child if we don’t unleash everything we have against the Night King.”

“But I guess you have thought for an instant about sending her to safety.”

“I did.”

Arya butted in: “You and Daenerys… are expecting a child?”

“Yes, Arya. I am sorry… it’s nothing we wanted to announce. I talked to Jorah about it, because I feel unease at the thought that I am sending my wife to battle with our child in her belly. Jorah is a married man too…”

“Is Sansa expecting too?”

“Not that we know of, Princess. But… I am older than you. My first wife conceived thrice. My aunt had five daughters. I have a different perspective on it, and one that Jon could relate to. I can understand Jon and his doubts. It still makes no difference now. Either we win, or we die.”

\--

Ser Jaime approached them first. Daenerys was on the background, with Drogon and Rhaegal. “Your Grace, Prince Jorah, Princess Arya. The cavalries are ready to ride out on your command.”

Jorah and Arya looked with pride at the multitude of mounted people in front of the castle and down the slope. “Very well. Have you appointed a few men to guard Prince Bran in the Weirwood?”

“Of course, Prince Jorah.”

“Are you sure you will be fine only with Widow’s Wail and with a dragonglass lance?”

Jaime smirked, for an instant looking again like the arrogant Kingsguard who had come to escort King Robert long ago. “I understand you won against me once, but it still was a tie. I _am_ a tourney knight, Prince Jorah. I can still be a tourney knight even without my hand” he grinned. “I will leave the daggers to you.”

He stretched out his arm to exchange a forearm handshake. “It has been an honour, Prince Jorah. I wish you good fortune.”

“Likewise, Ser Jaime.”

Jorah made for his horse, and so did Jon, Arya, Jaime, Brienne, Beric, Lord Yohn, and all the riders who had been appointed to command a unit.

Jorah and Arya each commanded a portion of the Northerner cavalry, in order to make the charge as effective as possible. They had mounted some dragonglass spikes on their horse legs made out of dragonglass scraps, hoping they would be at least partially effective enhancing the advantages of crushing hooves.

But the real goal of most commanders and of the most gifted warriors was to reach the Walkers and try to kill them.  They were to favour engaging them over wights. Jorah had received Heartsbane from Sam as a wedding gift, Arya had Gendry modify Needle to add a dragonglass point, and still had the Valyrian steel dagger. Ser Jaime had Widow’s Wail, Lady Brienne had Oathkeeper. Lord Lyonel Corbray was convinced his Lady Corbray would not ornate his fireplace for long if he didn’t swing it at the Walkers before they knocked on his door. King Jon had Longclaw, and Jeor’s memory, and Jorah’s friendship, and Ghost at his side. A few other heirlooms and treasures had made their way north as soon as the outcomes of the mission beyond the Wall and of the parlay in King’s Landing had become common knowledge: even people from the Riverlands, the Westerlands, and the Crownlands had volunteered to bring weapons and even to do their duty, welcomed and ushered by Lord Howland Reed and his people of the Neck.

The Reeds had sent only a few people-at-arms, since they thought the North had to be guarded still. The Neck  - they soon agreed - might even become a place to fall back. The crannogpeople had been sent out with the Unsullied, the Free Folk, the survivors of the Night’s Watch, and the infantry. Young Meera Reed was leading them, a spear in her hand, a net on her shoulders, her expression sadly blank.

Jon would lead the Dothraki deployed near Winterfell. He felt so strange at the thought. Jorah had taught him a few important words and sentences in Dothraki, being far more proficient than Daenerys and also experienced in fighting beside them. The Dothraki, on the other hand, appreciated the young Khal, his almost mindless attitude on the battlefield more akin to theirs than any other Westerosi’s, his huge direwolf almost as revered as the khaleesi’s dragons.

 Some of the Dothraki had Valyrian steel arakhs too – Jorah had noticed -, and so Jorah had explained to them what their duty would be. The lucky horselords had been honoured to hear from Jorah they had been chosen to bring down the ice demons. Many other riders were given arrows with dragonglass points, and told to kill wights only if strictly necessary to reach the Walkers. Jorah knew the Dothraki were one of their best hopes with their approach to war and with their skills.

Unfortunately, the Night King had disappeared from the scene for a while because he had picked up more Walkers, from what they saw as their homeland and the centre of their power. Bran had finally saw it through the weirwoods, only barely escaping the wrath of the enemy again. As for the diversions, they had sought for something indeed at the Dreadfort, but only raised new skeletons: not that it was good news, but if they had found some more obscure magic, it would have been worse. As for White Harbor… they could only hope they would be able to resist. They still had a few more days than Winterfell, they thought.

Jon and Beric, following the directions given by Beric’s faith, agreed that they **_had to_** try to reach the Night King. Magic was clearly one of the weapons they had to use against him. They were the only ones who had come back – not by ice, but by fire  -, a tangible proof of magic among humans. So was Daenerys with her dragons. It all made sense, even to the more sceptical. Arya had argued that it had nothing to do with false gods, only with a balance of energy and stillness, of life and death, but they recognised it did not change much in the logic – or magic – applied. Thus, Beric had even convinced the royal couples to have a few criminals sacrificed by dragonfire to the Lord of Light instead of beheaded according to Northern custom and law.

Many questions still lingered in their minds, though. Would the Night King attack Winterfell with his cursed iced fire? They found it very likely.

Therefore, scorpions on the field and at the castle were ready with dragonglass harpoons, giant bolts and arrows: all that Winterfell’s smith and Gendry had managed to craft. It was their best chance.

Daenerys, still enraged for her son Viserion, knew she had to make for the Night King too, hoping one dragon would be able to distract him while the other tried to attack. Before that, of course, Drogon and Rhaegal had to burn as many wights as they could. Her vengeful mission was very akin to a suicidal mission, considering that the Night King could not be so stupid to face two fire dragons with a wight dragon if he didn’t know he had something that gave him advantage.

Scattered all around Winterfell – and White Harbor – were several trenches, pits filled with ignitable material. They were meant to slow down or even to block the Dead, and to give the fighters on the ground a source of fire to burn wights and fallen comrades alike.

\--

They were here. A dark line on the horizon, soon followed by a noise like a low and prolonged thunder.

The fighters who were not particularly skilled with weapons held their torches, ready to ignite the material in the pits.

All the commanders motioned for the horn blowers to sound. _Three blasts,_ for they were now all together the Night’s Watch, the shield that guards the realms of men.

Jorah tightened the grip on his dragonglass-headed lances. Sansa’s favour was their oath, and their promise, a favour he wore in his heart, in his brain, in his entire soul. He gave a last look at Heartsbane and at his dragonglass dirk and dagger.

 _Ready for the tilt, Ser Jorah?_ He told himself, almost jokingly.

“QUEEN SANSA!” and he started the charge.

“WINTERFELL!”

“HOUSE STARK!”

“KNIGHTS OF THE VALE!”

“NIGHT’S WATCH!”

“HOUSE TARGARYEN!”

Hooves stomped wights, dragonglass spikes did what they could.

The Walkers were many, many more, thanks to Craster’s sacrifices that had begun long ago.

Behind the riders, the infantry lit the pits, and not even the most coward could turn back now. Fire and ice clashed.

\--

Arya was the first one who jumped from her still racing horse to land in front of a Walker, after successfully piercing another one with her lance at the end of her charge.

Her training made her quick, and fast, and smart, and fearless. _The water dance. You think you are the masters of ice, but ice is nothing than water, and I have mastered this dance long ago._ Arya was all she had experienced, and learned: she hadn’t renounced a single identity, and she didn’t need faces now. _When you pierce them, the water leaks out and they die._ The ice demons were already fewer. _Light as a feather. Quick as a snake. Calms as still water. Swift as a deer. Slippery as an eel._ The Walkers could not believe the human could keep up with them.

The next one had a more sophisticated armour on, she noticed. _This must be a lieutenant, or a commander, or an older being._

“You have angered the God of Death with your crimes”, she blurted out.

The Walker listened to the human voice.

“Cheating death, denying a corpse eternal rest. You have insulted the only God there is. Death is peace, a gift. You use it for war, you turn it into a curse.”

The Walker let out a strange and loud sound that was like if ice had a voice and could shrill. Arya could not care less. She was here to dance.

What she didn’t know was that the Walker with that shrill had been able to report to his King Arya’s words before dissolving into nothing.

\--

The Night King was looking for Daenerys, but Arya’s words worried him now more than a human trying to control two dragons. Was this woman someone with powers? She seemed to be a Stark, as well. The latter could be good news for them: if the Starks were all on the battlefield or outside it and not in Winterfell, the ancient spells defending the castle from cursed forms of life would be lifted.

He had to go for this Stark woman first. His lieutenants could take care of the dragons.

Daenerys, wiser thanks to the lessons imparted by the rescue mission, kept her dragons flying at an adequate speed, spitting fire amidst the wights, and keeping their trajectories irregular. She felt weapons aimed at them pass by. A few arrows had even reached them, puncturing her children. She had an arrow stuck in her mail herself, but she could not care less.

She had seen the Night King from afar, and felt ready to have Rhaegal facing him while she tried to circumnavigate him, when the Night King turned his back to her.

She decided to follow him.

\--

Bran had a huge responsibility on his shoulder. Should he wander the paths of time and seek for better answers? He might never be able to find them in time.

Should he warg animals and try to fight? He had tried to bond with Rhaegal thanks to Jon, but no one had ever warged into such a beast. Besides, if he faced the Night King while warging Rhaegal, who would assure him he could manage to accomplish anything?

He found a raven, tried to keep his distance, and soon saw the Night King making for Arya, Daenerys following him, and the javelins and spears flying around them.

But he had the mark of the Night King, and he knew he could not do anything else in his presence.

_He had the mark of the Night King._

_He had marked him, connecting them._

\--

The Night King noticed Daenerys was pursuing him, and knew he would never be able to find the Stark woman and attack her if he had to dread her attack, and vice versa.

_The stupid dragon woman. She thinks she can challenge me._

\--

On the ground, things were not going too bad, but not too well either. Jorah and Jaime’s expertise, supported by Jon’s information and documentation, had foreseen a lot of weaknesses of the wights and of the Walkers. Therefore, Daenerys had managed to burn a good number of wights without being hit yet, and even the fire pits worked in part.

Certainly, burning the fallen soldiers wasn’t easy in the wintery landscape and in the unnatural chill the Walkers brought along. The most effective way to use the pits was casting corpses into the fiery trenches, a move that required many favourable conditions.

All these factors together made the battlefield a more balanced scenario than both sides had expected: some wights, corpses, and White Walkers were eliminated – the latter bringing all their enslaved wights along. Then again, the Night King periodically raised wights again. The Night King raising dead, however, slowed down him in part: he already had to look out for Drogon and Rhaegal, to repel spears, javelins, arrows, harpoons and bolts by casting new spells, and to evaluate what his next move would – or should - be. He had the choice between trying to test or lift the spells of Winterfell, destroying the dragons, attacking humans with his cursed fire and with all his magic.

Now there was this new threat posed by another Stark. As if the Stark man with the Valyrian steel sword wasn’t enough.

\--

Fighting the ice demons was not easy, but most of the fighters had enough motivation to not give up.

The Dothraki were galvanised by the challenge, simple as it was. There were no hrakkar, no pale white lions here among the Andals, but there were pale white men instead.

Most people knew they had no other choice than trying to bring them down, and so they faced the unthinkable.

The Unsullied, the Free Folk, the crannogmen, all fought like wolves and bears and dragons. So did the Brothers of the Night’s Watch, the memory of their fallen brothers giving them the necessary motivation.

Beric was serving the Lord of Light.

Brienne had hope in her heart.

Jaime wanted to live for his revenge.

Jorah wore Sansa’s favour in his soul. Love had made him unbeatable once, and it was his only chance today as well.

Jon wanted to save not only humanity and his family, but also his marriage. He also wanted to discover why he was brought back. And he wanted to avenge Ghost: he had been effective in protecting him from the wights, but he had been too big and slow to be safe from the Walkers.

\--

Daenerys saw the Night King descending, and was worried. She had glimpsed him using his terrible powers on the ground, and it pained her to think she might witness yet something else that would haunt her forever, if she survived, or make her last minutes on this earth a hell, if she died.

“Quicker, my children. Quicker!” She ordered in Valyrian.

The Night King landed. The dragons weren’t far behind, and the Stark woman was easy to reach. He waited for his prey.

However, Arya had seen the scene from afar…

Arya ran, and danced, and twirled, hacking at things but fleeing them.

Suddenly, a storm of ice arose, engulfing Arya and the dragons alike. Drogon and Rhaegal were slowed down, and Daenerys felt her eyes burn.

Unfortunately for the Night King, Arya was trained to fight in blindness.

The Night King sensed he hadn’t stopped her, and felt one of the things he had inherited from his original human nature. _Anger_. Anger because these humans were able to develop something that made them less vulnerable to their magic. How could it be? His race had escaped the slavery of the Children because they were able to overpower their masters, after all; how could humans – a less magical race than the Children – withstand them?

The Night King suddenly felt a hand gripping him.

\--

_We are connected, because he marked me._

_But we are both connected. A connection works both ways._

Bran had understood that the Night King touching him had established a bridge between them. He had left his mark on him, and he knew how to use the mark to fight him.

Bran didn’t have time to learn what the enemy had learned – or inherited, or both. But he knew the moment he had touched him was the moment in which a connection was established, and barriers were removed.

And he also remembered Bloodraven’s death, and Hodor’s.

He had touched the heart tree, then, and got back to the moment the Night King had touched him.

And he had touched him back.

\--

In the crypts, Lyanna, Sam, Gilly, and Sansa were talking about Brandon the Builder, of whom much was known, and of Jorah Stark, whose deeds were basically unknown. Lyanna wanted to touch the statue of that remote Stark King who was probably her cousin’s namesake, out of curiosity and out of affection for her big cousin she might never see again.

“Sansa… the statue is… hot. Very hot. Strange.”

Sansa wanted to test it for herself.

They soon found out that most of the statues of older times were hot, and didn’t know why.

Outside Winterfell, a few Walkers and wights who had managed to make their way to the castle were denied access by the spells cast by Brandon the Builder with several dark arts against curses and shadows. The Night King was aware there were still other Starks around, but although he had sensed  the presence of a pack, he didn’t have proof that there was a Stark in Winterfell who was neither the swordsman nor the cripple greenseer. Sansa Stark.

\--

The ice storm had stopped, and Daenerys prepared to land, although her eyes hurt terribly, irritated by the small ice crystals.

The Night King struggled to keep the boy away from him but it was all difficult. _There_ , Bran had caught him in surprise and was clutching hard his arms, preventing him from using his scythe, and kicking him. _Here_ , Bran was using the connection to try to warg him, and this caused an incredible fight in his mind. He should have been able to repel Bran easily – he was far more powerful - but the moment of anger first, the surprise of the connection and the renewed anger then, and the impossibility to focus on one task only lowered his defences.

Then, a dragonglass dagger found his way across his throat. Once, twice, thrice, with rage…

The ice armour melted, and the icy humanoid figure turned into an age-old man with deep blue eyes, whose heart had been pierced by something Arya could not identify.

She looked at him, almost with pity, finally understanding the real meaning of what Bran had told him about their enemy, and said: “I free you from your curse. I give you the gift of death”.

And with one last stab, a man condemned to cheat death by being a weapon of mass destruction in someone else’s war was freed of his chains and delivered to the nothingness.

All over the North, the spell was broken, the White Walkers dissolved, the wights returned pitiful corpses.

\--

Arya didn’t know how long it had been, but she noticed Daenerys standing next to her, some blood on her surcoat and mail, tears welling in her eyes.

“Princess Arya… cousin… tell me it’s true, tell me it’s over.”

“This dance is over, it is true. Now a new one begins.”

Daenerys could not follow much of what Arya was saying, of course. She thought that maybe she had her own way of expressing emotions, and thought nothing of it. She simply hugged the young woman.

Arya hugged her back for a while, and then she exclaimed: “ ** _Your dragons_**. We have to fly wounded people back to Winterfell. We have to search for Jon and Jorah first. We also have to give order to everyone to start picking up wounded people immediately.”

“You are right.” Daenerys felt nervous at the thought of knowing nothing about Jon and Jorah. It was a sense of déjà vu she would have gladly avoided. Yet here she was, only a small wound, and two living dragons.

She looked once at her now dead child.

“We can burn the dead afterwards. Now we have to think of the living.” Arya hadn’t missed Daenerys’ thoughts.

Daenerys made for Drogon again. Rhaegal was wounded – probably some Walker had managed to harm him – but he seemed fine.

\--

In the Weirwood, Bran Stark had fallen to the ground, senseless, after a few convulsions and a scream.

“He said we are not to touch him.”

“He might freeze. I know I am freezing, and I am not rolling in the snow.”

“Do you want to meddle with dark magic?”

“Aren’t the Old Gods behind the heart tree?”

“What about the ice demons and their reanimated corpses? Who is going to tell what we could cause if we touch him?”

“But… he is not touching the tree anymore, as he was before. It seemed to me like it was an important bit.”

“I tell you I am not touching him.”

\--

Daenerys found Jorah first, amidst other survivors of the Northern troops. The Northerners had gathered around their prince, whose leg was bleeding, and the gathering has made it easy for her to decide to have a look at what was happening.

She saw him supported by his men, a huge red mark on the snow still spreading underneath his leg, a man binding some stripes of cloth to stop the bleeding. She run to him immediately after getting off Drogon.

“ ** _Jorah!_** Please, tell me he is all right.”

“it’s a clean but sharp cut. But it seems like we have stopped the bleeding, Your Grace.”

Jorah spoke too: “It’s only a cut. I am alive. I don’t mean to die now.” Behind the smile, his face was that of an exhausted man, though.

“Jorah… I will fly you back to Winterfell immediately. You and other wounded who need to see a maester as soon as possible. Do we have something to bind them to Drogon’s scales?”

People volunteered cloaks, belts, and whatever they could use to ensure their prince and commander and a few other souls could be saved.

“Jorah, how…”

“I was lucky, I was very lucky. I have been hacking at them like mad, but I am only a man, and an older man besides. I was starting to feel exhausted, and I made one clumsy move while fighting a Walker. He found an opening, and cut my thigh laterally. He was preparing to deal my death blow… when he dissolved.”

Daenerys almost cried. “You will be all right, Jorah, I know it”, voice thick with emotion.

She ordered Rhaegal to look for Jon. Jon would know what to do with him.

“Rhaegal is wounded, I see” Jorah remarked.

“So are you.”

“And you, too, from what I see” Jorah smiled, because he suspected that was a first.

“It was just an arrow.”

“Don’t underestimate arrows. Have a maester look at it. Cleaning them and treating them is important. At least, I was wounded by a weapon of ice… and the magic that had made them has disappeared, it seems.”

\--

Jon was so sure he would be the one to bring down the Night King that he felt strange when he saw the Walkers dissolve and the wights fall to the ground.

But he was alive, and someone, somewhere, had managed to break the spell, probably by killing the Night King.

He wanted to know desperately who. Daenerys? He was almost sure it had been her, at this point.

He wandered around a little, helping a few wounded, giving orders to begin immediately the collection of those who could be saved by a maester. He noticed the slaughter of horses – a pity, since horses would have been useful now. But it was preventable: they were bigger and clumsier targets than a trained human.

Then he noticed Rhaegal approaching. The dragon had two wounds, apparently from spears, but seemed fine enough to fly. He was a little worried to see only one of the dragons, and no Daenerys. He tried to fight the fear that she might have sacrificed herself. He knew she would have had more motivations than anybody else to face death willingly. But if that was the case, he could not do anything to change the past.

He called Rhaegal, loaded a few wounded, and made for Winterfell, after charging one of the Dothraki with the task of continuing the battlefield inspection.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I hope you appreciated the book references and the Syrio Forel tribute.  
> Yes, I went very much Harry Potter (the inspiration came from the HP/Voldy connection), with a hint of LotR (Samwise-style action for sure, and the whole "smaller, less considered beings are the ones who save everybody" thing). I inserted canon asoiaf lore through Arya - I don't believe in gods, either, so I can relate to her.


	7. Of the end of an era

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of humanity's victory brings happiness but also pain with it.  
> Prepare the handkerchiefs.  
> Also some foreshadowing and symbolism.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the many kudos and comments!  
> I write these fics (all of them) for fun and because writing non-academic or non-business stuff is relaxing. Besides, I cannot afford a professional proofreader, and I do what I can: if there are typos, mistakes, unclear constructions and collocations, please drop a comment with "Please revise xxx".

 

 

 Daenerys landed in front of the main gate of Winterfell, greeted by cheering people. She noticed they were still only guards, though, including good old Podrick who was still clutching his torch in a nervous manner.

“Haven’t you called the others out?” Daenerys sounded almost outraged.

“We wanted to be sure… that everything was over,” stuttered Pod.

“I can assure you, I have seen the Night King die. Princess Arya stabbed him. But now… call the maesters, _immediately_! There are wounded people, including prince Jorah!” The guards chose to focus on the _wounded_ -detail rather than on Arya being the _hero of the day_ , and ran to the crypts and to the other chambers.

While a few guards took care of the other wounded, Daenerys helped Jorah down Drogon, and commented: “It must be the first time **_I_** must help you unmount.”

Jorah replied, a hint of a smile on his face: “It is only fitting for the beginning of a new era.” Daenerys helped him lean on the ground, then stared at him interrogatively, waiting for him to complete his reasoning. “Things are bound to change, aren’t they?”

“A… new era?”

“It is. The war to remove Cersei from the thrones will be the first war we will not fight side by side.”

Daenerys was astonished: “What do you mean? Aren’t we allies?”

Jorah forgot who had told him the news about her pregnancy, and continued: “Now that the White Walkers’ threat is over, I don’t think Jon will let you risk your life and your child’s life against an enemy that can be overthrown with the right strategy. I might have to sit out this war myself, depending on how my wound turns out to be, and on my love’s mood when she sees it.”

“ ** _Jon told you?_** _”_ The revelation hit her harder than hearing Jorah referring to Sansa in that tender and informal way.

“Yes… I am sorry, Daenerys, I had forgotten I heard it from him… Jon simply wanted to talk with a man about it, about his worries, about the war…”

Daenerys felt hurt. “It should have been **_me_** telling you.”

“Daenerys” – he saying her name like that after moons made her feel even worse – “things have changed. In less extraordinary times, I would have learned of your state when it was a confirmed thing, and probably by means of an official proclaim, or with a letter sent to Sansa and me signed by you and Jon together as family members. Or both things at the same time, most likely”

Daenerys let out the tears at the blow those cold facts dealt to her. “Jorah… you… I… we have been friends…”

Jorah felt a little surprised by her reaction, and by her words. “Of course we have been friends. For many, many years, we were friends and we shared many things. I will never forget that” he said affectionately but calmly, and with that distance Daenerys had come to dread and dislike.

“And now… now you hate me!”

 _Oh, dear. What happened?_ “ _Hate you_? I could never hate you, Daenerys.” He tried to convey that he truly bore her no bad feelings, despite everything. Just that it was **_all_** in the past.

 “You… you… are speaking like… like…”

“Like someone who knows that life sometimes closes doors, and that these are the last days we will spend living in the same place. When you started your relationship with Jon and when you married him, I was _still somewhere around_ : I was in the same place as you, or expected to arrive there soon. We had to fight the enemy together. But now… now we will still be allies, and friends, and family, but you will go on with your husband, the throne you will soon conquer – I am sure of it -, the child you will have. And I will be in Winterfell, with my Sansa, helping her every time she will need it, serving House Stark and the North. We will write, we will meet again, sometimes, of course. We are cousins by law, now.”

“Jorah…” _He had said he would always love me…_ Tears were running free. Daenerys could feel the loss as a blade cutting through her as nothing had ever done before. She had refused to have him executed, and she knew deep down it had been because death was final. She had then secretly wished to see him again. She had been ready to take him back. She had not lost him to greyscale, or in battle. It had all been for nothing: she was losing him now. He would become a ghost haunting her soul, alive only in someone else’s life, at someone else’s side.

“You even dismissed me from your service. Surely you had thought of the implications?” He looked at her and understood she had probably scaled down the event by telling herself that they were still ‘together’ in Winterfell. “No, you truly hadn’t” he realised, with sadness and pity. Jorah remembered Tyrion’s opinion on Daenerys’ attitude, and feared that he could have been right all along. She probably hadn’t thought much about her choices and her attitude, and only now she was realising where her life and where the steps she had taken had brought her.

He felt sorry for her. He could see now she found it difficult to accept. He didn’t linger on _what exactly_ the sources of her disappointment might be, and focused on being her friend and advisor one last time, since he had seen the maesters approaching them from the crypts. “Daenerys, it does not help to dwell on the past, or to fight changes that are inevitable. Concentrate on your husband, on your throne, on your child. Be happy, and fight for your happiness. I am sure you are very emotional now because you just survived a war, and maybe because I lost much blood on the snow and it scared you. You will start putting things into perspective soon, believe me. And never, ever think I hate you. I am glad I have three incredible cousins: you, Arya, and Lyanna.” He concluded with a smile.

Although it would probably be the best course of action, in view of her disappointment and hurt feelings, he could not tell her the nude truth behind all this: that she was the main responsible for all this. _She_ has chosen to cut him off and utterly ignore him _that day_ , and to focus on Jon and only Jon, and with that choice _she_ had closed the door of trust and love between them. He could not tell her he had later come to realise that even if something had gone differently when there still was time – for example, even before she and Jon got married - he could never live in fear that she would do one day what Lynesse had done to him: she had already shown she had it in her to behave like that. And then… he had found himself in love with Sansa, who had accepted him and loved him, and would never be a Lynesse: Sansa had learned the cost of every single thing she had, and would never give up love for something material, or discard people who meant something to her: it was simply not in her nature.

Hearing the whole truth as it was could probably give her closure, but he saw her distraught, and he was sure she would think he hated her, if he explained it to her. And he still had affection for her in his heart. Maybe she would understand it by herself, one day.

The first maester had reached them by then, and he had to address him: “Maester Wolkan. I am sorry to bother you…”

“Prince Jorah… let me see…”

“Queen Daenerys must be looked at too. She took an arrow… she is a little scared by all the blood she and I lost, mind you.” Jorah intervened to deflect attention from her tears. “Mine was an ice scythe. And the others that came along need your attentions too.”

The second maester – or, better, man of science – to pass the gate was Sam himself.

“ _Prince Jorah_! Don’t tell me I have to operate on you again!”

“I fear so, but cleaning me up and stitching me up should not be so difficult. Also, some milk of the poppy might help, _this time_ ” and he grinned at the young scientist.

Other maesters and people swarmed in the plain… and finally, the two figures he longed for the most appeared through the gate. Lyanna ran towards him, and Sansa hurried behind her.

He felt his cousin hug him and give him a wet kiss on his stubble, only to leave him immediately to make room for Sansa, who knelt beside him while grabbing his head, trembling.

“ ** _Jorah_** … my love… my knight… are you all right?” clutching him and looking at him as if she were trying to understand whether he was real or an illusion, a dream or a lookalike.

“Only a cut. I will be fine, my love. I only need stitches, and some rest.”

And she hugged him too, breaking into tears, then showering him and his head with kisses, relieved that she would now see a new era in Westeros with him. Jorah let out tears too while kissing her back and stroking her, and murmured sweet words to his beloved wife, the woman whose thought had kept him alive and kicking.

“Your Grace, my prince, I believe moving the wounded into more appropriate rooms and starting treatments would be better” interrupted with embarrassment Maester Wolkan.

Sansa composed herself: “I agree. Oh, Daenerys? What do you know of the others so far? Do we need to send out riders or any help?”

“I would definitely send out riders, to save as many people as we can. Arya is fine… well, not only fine. She is the one who stabbed the Night King, in fact, as he had unmounted. Don’t ask me more. I hope we will understand soon how that was possible.”

All the people around them who had heard turned their heads and dropped their jaws in awe.

And the tale of the princess of Winterfell who had saved humanity began to spread.

\--

Later, Jon arrived on Rhaegal with his load of wounded, and noticed Drogon resting outside the castle, feeling relieved. He was cheered by people too, and was sent to the hall where Daenerys would be with maesters and other survivors.

Wounded and survivors started to arrive at Winterfell, people emerged from their shelters, and the castle was soon alive with people doing their best to do their part.

One tall and proud figure was in the middle of the courtyard: Queen Sansa, supervising organisation, medical care, and the distribution of food and drink, as she was known to do. He smiled. _Now it’s her time. A time for a wolf queen._

“Sansa…”

“Jon! You are alive too! And… you seem well!” and she run towards him and hugged him. “But now hurry. Your wife will be worried.”

“Is she inside, as I was told?”

“Yes, she took an arrow, but nothing to worry about. But she also seems distraught. She must have only now realised what had happened, I fear. Oh, she knows who killed the Night King. It was our Arya!”

Jon was stunned. “Arya? My father… Melisandre and their prophecies… _Arya_ was the princess that was promised? Not Daenerys and I?”

“I don’t really care for prophecies, as long as we are all safe and sound. I apologise for being this blunt.”

“Any news about Jorah?”

“He is getting some care from Samwell. He has a wound. He looks exhausted, and he has lost much blood, but Samwell says his men have stopped the bleeding soon enough in a clever way, and he is a strong man, and he only needs some rest, food and water.” She let some emotion appear through her voice and her breathing.

“And you, I suppose” Jon added smiling and caressing her. Sansa returned the smile.

In that moment, the guards pulled Bran’s wheelchair into the courtyard, Bran terribly pale and still senseless.

\--

“Your Grace, he has come down with a fever. Even though him being unconscious seems to be related to his… powers, he was in the cold for quite long… his clothes were damp…”

Sansa, Arya, and Jon listened to the maester in silence. It was a miracle already that none of them had died during the battle, they knew.

Surprisingly, Arya approached Bran first, took his hand, and let out some words. “Little brother, I don’t know how you managed to block him, but I wouldn’t have been able to stab him without you. Thank you. Please, open your eyes.”

Sansa let her tears out, and Jon hugged her tightly. “He will be all right. Soon he and Jorah will be with us at the feast” he reassured her, and stroke her back. “Remember? He woke up after the fall. We all thought he was dead already. Yet he survived.”

Arya stared at Jon in silence.

Bran shook and opened his eyes. “You did it.”

Arya understood. “Yes, I did it. How… did **_you_** manage it?”

“The moment he marked me, he had opened a connection, I understood. I went back… I used it to grab him back and to try to warg him. I was able to surprise him. I saw he… had focused on other Starks: he was looking for you and Jon on the battlefield. And Rhaegal distracted and attacked the undead Viserion. Without Daenerys, we would not have made it. All three together were needed.”

“Bran…”

“It wasn’t Bran who did it. It was the Three-eyed-raven. Bran died long ago, in a cave north of The Wall. There is nothing to mourn here.”

The Three-eyed-raven closed his eyes again, and the three remaining Starks instinctively knew he would never open them again.

\--

Sansa held on as long as it was needed for a Queen, only to collapse on Jorah’s chest in their room later at night. She hid her face in his warm chest, longing to feel his strength and to hear his beating heart, and cried. “You are not leaving me.”

A low, sleepy voice answered: “Not a chance in whatever hell is waiting for me. Now we **_will_** live our life together, my love. You know my father would be still alive if he hadn’t died by mutineers’ hands, and even once stabbed he fought long before closing his eyes forever. And he was past seventy namedays. It takes a lot to bring us Mormonts down.” He lifted his arms to stroke her head and hug her.

 “You bet.”

\--

The wounded had been collected and treated – many were able to survive. Weapons, mail, and all kind of things were collected also, and given to the smiths.

Life went on, and there were still wrongs to right, or payments to collect.

Tyrion was particularly keen on this, and thus he, Varys, Davos, Jaime, and Brienne started discussing the new campaign even before the Targaryens or the Starks would. Tyrion knew he could count on Sansa’s thirst for revenge on Cersei, on Daenerys’ lust for her father’s throne, and on Clegane’s mad rage. The list of motivated combatants grew longer each day, and Tyrion knew Cersei’s days on earth were numbered.

Meanwhile, all the dead on the battlefield had been burned by Drogon and Rhaegal on Daenerys’ and Jon’s command, with some words of homage and with a few onlookers standing by as a substitute for more pompous ceremonies and for traditional burials: Sansa had stated that resources and workforce should serve the living, not the dead.

It hurt, sometimes, especially when they found the still recognisable bodies of friends, like Beric, or young boys and girls from every corner of Westeros, or scions of Houses. But the brutality of that war emerged also when they looked upon the hacked, unrecognisable human remains torn to pieces by wights, and on the poor former wights themselves. Or on the old shell of a man whose destiny had been twisted centuries ago. Or on the remains of a young dragon.

\--

A raven from White Harbor had informed them of the outcomes of the war there. One day, when the Army of the Dead was almost ready to start the siege, a ship from Volantis had reached the city, full of Red Priests and Priestesses claiming to be there to fight the common enemy, who they called ‘The Great Other’. The Manderlys, desperate for hope, let them into the city, and let them perform their rites, light their fires, thus integrating them into the strategy that their liege-lord had designed. They had even allowed them to perform a voluntary human sacrifice to their Lord of Light. The willing victim was a beautiful Priestess who had offered herself claiming that it was her destiny and that she had finished her time on earth.

Their forces barely had contact with the enemy before the spells were broken and the Army of the Dead with its Walkers dissolved. They thought the Red God of Volantis had helped them, until they received the ravens from Winterfell. Still, a few people claimed that the Red Priests and Priestesses played their part.

\--

Days later, a sad procession brought the remains of Prince Brandon Stark of Winterfell to rest beside his father and brother. Sansa and Jorah lead the procession arm in arm – Jorah still leaning on a walking stick and grimacing -, followed by Arya and a very embarrassed Gendry, and by Jon and Daenerys. Maester Wolkan and Samwell with his family all followed them and the men carrying the coffin. The rest of the people waited outside, as per Stark custom, commemorating in a solemn silence the fallen young prince who had spent his last years on earth preparing for the very moment that was his last act.

\--

Among people who never recovered, there was soon another victim of the war.

Rhaegal had reached his undead brother keeping it busy while the Night King had unmounted and was struggling with Bran, allowing Arya to stab him. He had been wounded, and, apparently, he had still been strong enough to fly back and forth for a while in order to bring the wounded to Winterfell and to burn the dead. However, afterwards, he grew more tired every day. Samwell had noticed, but he hadn’t dared to try and treat him. Even its mother and its rider could barely touch his wounds without facing Rhaegal’s fury.

“Your Grace, not much is known of… well, dragon medicine, but I think they might be exposed to the same threats a man is. An untreated would can heal, or can fester. If he truly was wounded by an undead dragon… those gashes don’t look well… who knows what happened, if it’s just festering or if it’s more.” Daenerys felt herself die a little: it was almost like Drogo all over again. Festering wounds and some obscure magic. And this time there would be no loving knight picking her up, taking her hand, standing by her side as she recovered physically and emotionally…

 Samwell wasn’t finished: “Besides… besides…”

“Besides **_WHAT_**?” Daenerys couldn’t help but lash at Sam, masquerading the pain with irritation.

“Well, they are magical creatures… and we just got rid of an entire variety of magic…”

“Drogon is fine.”

“Drogon is fine, it’s true, but… he _does_ seem calmer, tamer. And…moreover… if Rhaegal dies…”

Daenerys threw him a stare full of rage.

“If… well, you know… they will probably never lay eggs. Unless they do it soon. I am sorry, Your Grace, but this is probably the truth. Magic might… disappear. Slowly, gradually maybe, but it’s starting to look like that.”

“And what will I become then, without my dragons?”

“Your Grace, you don’t need dragons to be someone. You have accomplished much so far, and you still have so much you can do. You and your dragons were essential for uniting people and for fighting the White Walkers. I will stress that in my books.”

Daenerys finally found something that could distract her from her pain. “You are writing the history…”

“… of the War of the Five Kings, of the Mother of Dragons and Breaker of Chains, of the War of the Three Queens… well, the latter is still going on. Anyway, I don’t want dull men from Oldtown ruining this epic tale with poor storytelling, clumsy writing, boring titles. Especially the bit in which a crippled young prince, a young dragon queen and a rebel young princess took down a powerful magic being together. Or many other bits, really.”

Daenerys smiled at the man, a little sadness but also some tenderness appearing on her fine features. “Will you write of loves lost and found, too?”

“Queen Sansa and Prince Jorah would kill me if I didn’t.”

\--

A few days later, Daenerys listened and watched amidst tears as Drogon let out a screech of pain, a lament for its fallen brother, and then burned its corpse.

“I am so sorry. But soon we will have our own child, Daenerys, never forget that.” Jon, who had one of his arms around her waist, stroked her belly with his other hand while saying it. He hoped she would find comfort in him soon.

“You are right” she said, remembering Jorah’s words about her future and the changes that were bound to happen. _I have to be strong, for the child, for Drogon, for Jon, and for the Targaryen name._

She turned to look at the man himself, and she met Jorah and Sansa’s gazes, full of sorrow and pity for her. She could also read more in Jorah’s eyes, the look of a man who had seen them at the birth and witnessed them grow, the look of a man who truly knew what she was feeling. She understood now that if she had remembered their bond instead of pursuing an attraction the day she lost Viserion, if she had spoken with the man who would have acknowledged and shared every single emotion she went through, she might be the woman on his arm now. He might be the one hugging her, maybe caressing her belly with his big, strong hand. And she would find the idea of her future bearable, even full of appeal despite the pain for Rhaegal’s death.

_Daenerys, it does not help to dwell on the past, or to fight changes that are inevitable. Concentrate on your husband, on your throne, on your child. Be happy, and fight for your happiness._

Her tears doubled as she replayed Jorah’s words in her head: although he had meant to give her strength with them, they only remembered her of all she had lost.

Jorah and Sansa felt sorry for Jon as well as for Daenerys. Jorah had talked to Sansa about his conversation with Daenerys. As he had said, he did not hate Daenerys, and now that he had read between the lines what had really happened, he felt terribly sorry she was not happy, because she was paying a very high price for a mistake. Sansa agreed in part, but pointed out that everybody pays the price one day or another, without exception. Her crush on Joffrey had come with a high price too, and Jon was in no way a Joffrey. Quite the opposite: Jon had longed for a true family his whole life, and although integrated among his siblings-cousins, had been treated with coldness by Catelyn all along. He had been as happy as she had been the day they had met again at Castle Black and found out they still had someone in this world, they still had a family. He sure deserved better than to be married to a woman showing signs of regret. They both hoped Jorah’s advice to Daenerys about concentrating on her future would have the desired effect on her sooner or later, as it had been the case many, many times before.

Jon had talked to Sansa, too, seeking the opinion of a lady about Daenerys’ behaviour. Sansa had tried to reassure him by quoting Jorah’s opinion and by reporting the outcomes of her conversation with her husband: that Daenerys was simply scared by the changes, and needed time to find in Jon not just passion and power but also the support Jorah had been for almost six years. “Talk to her as you talk to me, Jon. I don’t think we are that different, I and she. Sometimes it’s other circumstances that make us what we are in a certain moment. Give her time.”

Samwell, always the talker and the listener, had meddled enough to be able to talk to all three of them openly, and to Daenerys in a undercover manner. However, he kept the truth for himself – and for his books. His distance from Daenerys made him notice clearly the longing in her eyes every time she looked at Jorah, and the desire. Sam tried to rationalise the latter, and went on in his research on the matter.

Many other women eyed the handsome prince in a not very courtly manner, so he knew what he was talking of. His Gilly had confirmed that _yes_ , Prince Jorah, albeit not in his prime - or maybe for exactly that reason - was a gorgeous specimen of a man, and tall and strong too. This factor, combined to the bond, the friendship and the affection she harboured in her heart for him, clearly magnified Daenerys’ feelings for her former knight and advisor. He hoped Daenerys would soon be able to see what kind of man Jon was and to appreciate what fate had given to her, instead of pining for paths she could not walk anymore.

As Jon’s oldest friend, it hurt him that Daenerys loved Jorah, the love a woman feels for her man, and that her bond to Jon was not that strong. _Now._ He repeated himself _now. It will change. Sansa is right. They only need time._

\--

Winterfell finally organised a feast: nothing extensive and expensive, considering that winter was still there – the slightly longer days were probably a trick their mind were playing on them after moons of terror. They also bore in mind that another war would begin soon. However, they all wanted to feel alive again, and they were confident they could have some food and wine delivered from White Harbor, from Essos, and from the kingdoms not directly controlled by the Lannisters.

The most beautiful feasts were, however, of a more private nature. People giving themselves to pleasure, new couples in love discovering pleasure together, and a certain queen celebrating with her beloved husband.

They had missed that kind of connection: other forms of communication had seemed more important for a while. Besides, he had been hurting terribly for a while, and she was exhausted by her queenly duties in the wake of victory. They still wanted to be careful with his leg, though, and so he let Sansa lead. She decide to caress him tenderly, affectionately massaging his muscles, erotically exploring and feeling him.

But Sansa wanted to explore him more intimately and proficiently, and soon he felt her hand and her lips on his cock. She had taken him gingerly, and she had started kissing him from the base to the tip lightly, her hair grazing his body in the most erotic way.

“Oooh… Sansa…”

She looked up with desire and mischief in her eyes.

“Promise me… you will stop if I order you to. I want you… you can ride me…”

She smiled, and asked: “What do you like? I always tell you everything. Now is your turn.”

“You. Feeling you, my love, in every possible way.”

She saw a drop of wetness leak out, and felt compelled to lick it and taste it. The loud moan he let out told her more than he could do. She licked him on the tip, watching his reactions, and finally decided to swallow him fully, locking her lips on his shaft and going down slowly.

She loved the sensation of his hardness in her mouth, and he loved it too. “Gods… Sansa…”

She tried to imitate their lovemaking, soon discovering how to suck it to have him humming and moaning madly. Then, she added her hand upon Jorah’s request – finally he had explicitly asked for something! Her hand moved in unison with her head for a while.

He told her to stop after their gazes crossed again, fearing he would not be able to control himself anymore. “I want to be inside you, you know. Now come here.” She stretched beside him, and he kissed her deeply, aroused by his taste on her. He kneaded her teats – which seemed even more beautiful than the last time they had made love - and stroke her nipples, then proceeded to her favourite stimulations with his mouth while touching her between her legs with his hand, bearing with the pain from his leg for the change of position.

Then he ordered her: “Come here. Kneel over my face.” The way he said it aroused her incredibly, and he ate her out passionately, touching her, fingering her. Sansa finally learned what a headboard really was for and why beds often leaned against a wall. She then rode her prince and knight, enjoying his shaft, his sight, his chest and arms, his kisses, until they fell, spent and satisfied.

\--

The day also came for the new campaign to begin. The Unsullied were to sail to Dragonstone from White Harbor, whereas Jon would lead the Dothraki and a few Northerners against the Ironborn still faithful to Euron. Jaime and Arya would lead the rest of the Northerners to King’s Landing: the two commanders had asked Sansa to be the ones to capture Cersei, in order to exact justice on her behalf – and revenge for themselves. Sansa interceded with Jon, arguing that they were the right people for the mission considering their past in the city, and Jon agreed. After all, they remembered, even Robert took the throne by having Ned take the city in his stead.

Varys had already left for King’s Landing to resume his spying and plotting. Daenerys, Tyrion, Missandei, and Davos would leave for White Harbor too, to wait there until they could sail south safely.

Sansa had to meet a difficult decision: send Jorah with the Northerners, although prohibiting him from actually leading attacks or heading into battle, or keep him here, considering that he still had some discomfort in the thigh that could make riding a nightmare for him.

In the end, she thought that the concrete risk of him falling from his horse was reason enough to have him stay home. In addition, Jorah could make his part by planning the campaign with the other commanders and advisors while at Winterfell. Jaime and Arya knew the capital far better than he did. The North had lost many of its lords, ladies, and smart brains already: the loss of yet another personality like him was something her realm could not afford. In the end, she realised that sending him was useless.

She also added, in private, that it looked like her moon blood was late, and Jorah felt thrilled to bits: he had given up the idea of being a father a long time ago, and was now facing the concrete possibility of finally having a child with the woman he loved. But he also felt an old fear resurfacing, the one his first wife left him: of children dying before birth, of his wife dying in childbirth. He decided to advise Sansa to keep Samwell with them _forever._

\--

Gendry and the other smiths had crafted magnificent new armours. The Targaryen armours Jon and Daenerys wore were authentic works of art: Jorah and Jaime had inspired the makers by describing Prince Rhaegar’s one. Daenerys didn’t strictly need it, but she wanted so desperately to have one and try it on “before my belly grows” that they granted her wish. Jon wasn’t too excited to wear such a heavy full plate armour, but as a recently knighted king he had to put up with the discomfort. Jorah had knighted him, as the highest-ranking knight and as a fellow Northerner. They laughed about having to say the old Andal words speaking of the Seven, afterwards, while drinking some ale: Jorah suggested they invented a new ceremony as soon as possible in order to get rid of that bullshit.

The day of their goodbye, the Targaryens wore their armours proudly, as fit for royals departing for war.

One of the goodbyes no one had expected was that of Tyrion to the Stark monarchs. “Goodbye, _Jorah of the many titles_. Next time we meet, please remind me which one is the right one. Oh, and don’t you dare make my ex-wife unhappy, or I _will_ take her back after asking Jon to kill you. Or I could even ask Arya.”

“Goodbye, Tyrion. I was sure I would kill you, you know. Now look at us: almost sorry to part. And it’s not even the first time you feel sorry to be parted from me.”

“Now, _Prince Jorah_ , you almost make it sound like it’s you I am longing for, and not the beautiful and powerful young queens you usually accompany yourself with.”

“You could finally admit I stole your heart with that poem about Valyria, _Lord Tyrion_.”

Even Sansa was a little sorry, and amused too “Lord Tyrion, our paths part again. Who knows if they will cross again too!”

“Your Grace, my offer was serious. If he makes you unhappy, I will make him pay for everything.  And if he makes you happy… I wish you ever joy in this world. You deserve it.”

Jorah addressed then his cousin by law: “Next time we see each other, it might be in King’s Landing, unless you prefer visiting us here. And if you ever feel the need to risk your life for nothing or for little more than that, remember your wife and your cousins, whose heart you would break” and Jorah and Jon exchanged their forearm handshake amongst guffaws, only to decide to hug as brothers immediately after.

“You are starting to sound like your father, _cousin_.”

“Well, you might look very much like your mother, but you sure act like your father, so it seems like the raven is calling the crow black, _cousin_.”

“I almost forgot: if you make Sansa unhappy, I will come myself to settle the matter. I agree with Tyrion on this.”

Sansa hugged Daenerys too. “I cannot wait to see you in Cersei’s place, my dear. Thank you for all you have done for us. I am also looking forward to meeting my new little cousin” she added tenderly.

Daenerys smiled. “Thank you for being so kind, and for being a queen who always thought of everything her people and allies could need. I am glad we are family.” She really was. She _knew_ she felt something for Jon and for her. She avoided adding Jorah to the equation, because admitting how much she loved _him_ felt like contradicting what she had just thought: it felt like betraying the other two already. “I hope you don’t mind if we decide to give the baby your father’s name if he is a boy. As adorable as Jorah is, I still don’t think he would like to have a son named after the man who wanted to behead him…”

“No, you are right. I think it’s right the honour is left to you. Father sacrificed a lot to keep Jon alive. I still have brothers to remember, and a mother besides. Jorah knew her and knew Robb, and I am sure he would be thrilled to name our children after them. Besides, I think his father needs to be remembered, too.”

Daenerys studied Sansa’s expression and pondered her words. It was strange to think of Jorah having children. But here he was, married to a woman, slightly younger than her was and a queen besides, both madly in love. She knew it would most probably happen. “So, I guess we might get little cousins too, in the future.” She held Sansa’s hands fondly. “It will be beautiful for them, I mean… having a large family, I believe.”

“I hope we can announce a little prince or princess soon indeed. I used to have a large family. I might have not appreciated it enough at the time,” she let out a sigh, “but… yes, it was beautiful. I promise we will try to meet once in a year at least, to keep not only our political affairs up to date but also our family bond alive.”

 Sansa and Jon hugged immediately, used to it as they were. “I know we will meet again in some castle: it is the story of our life. But I hope next time it is for something different than wars” commented Jon.

“I really hope it is, _Jon the Dragonknight_.”

“You remember,” added Jon affectionately.

“Of course I do.”

“Do you call Jorah _the Bearknight_ then? We would make for an amusing couple of royal cousins with those names.”

Sansa reddened. “No, he is simply _my_ knight and _my_ prince.”

“A very lucky one, if I may” and he kissed her on her forehead.

It was the moment of the most difficult goodbye. Daenerys looked up at Jorah, and saw him smiling at her. “Goodbye, _Queen Daenerys_ ” he said, trying to reassure her.

“Not a queen. A khaleesi.” They both remembered, and smiled at the memory.

Jorah replied fondly: “It’s good to hear. I remember a khaleesi winning over a husband, a friend who loved her very much, a khalasar, three dragons, an army, and many cities.” He owed her those affectionate words of encouragement. She was still the suffering young girl sold to Drogo who had moved him, and she was still the woman he had loved as he loved Sansa now. And he still had faith in her, he still had faith that she could reach her goal, overcoming her pain and her new enemies as well.

She hugged him like that day on Dragonstone, and he hugged her back, at least. He owed her that, too: Sansa had been very clear with him, and had also told Jon to understand and to accept some tenderness between the two, fighting the jealousy. “Go grab your destiny.”

“Goodbye… Jorah.” _My bear_ she added sadly in her mind.

_Yes, I will become the queen you always dreamed of._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who is the priestess who offered herself as a sacrifice? :-) 
> 
> So, the Jonsa community will have to be patient for a little while, but they should have seen the seeds already. It will be an unconventional but beautiful (in my opinion) path, I hope you are not bothered by it.
> 
> My main community (Jorah x Daenerys) might not be pleased... but I am writing other conventional Jornaerys stories already. This one is the one where I get angry at D&D for what they did to Jorah in S7.
> 
> Sansa never calls Jorah "bear" for many reasons. 1) "bear" is Daenerys' nickname for Jorah in the books, and I want it to stay that way. 2) Sansa barely remembers Jorah with the bear surcoat (she was a child when she saw him at Winterfell before his banishment), and has fallen in love with "black uniform" Jorah. 3) in general, I want to highlight the difference between Sansa, who calls him "my knight" and "my prince", and Daenerys.
> 
> Sorry about the proofreading stuff, but I am really tight on money, my friends are Italian, my neighbours are Austrian, waiting for someone to correct my texts as a non-professional beta- or proofreader takes a lot of time and also most of the fun away, and thus I do what I can. Re-reading your own stuff does not help (I have published professionally, I know what I am talking about).
> 
> If you want to "support" me, I own a sole proprietorship: look up on Facebook "A-Typical Italian" (translator, language school), see if you might be interested in one of my services, and be sure to mention you read my fics to get a 10% off!


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